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appletons' 

Uoxon  ant>  Country 

Xibrari? 

No.  254 


BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS 


BELINDA-AND 
SOME    OTHERS 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON  AND   COMPANY 

1898 


Copyright,  i8g8, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rightt  reserved. 


SRL6 
URB 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I. — Half-a-dozen I 

II. — In  London  town 27 

III. — We  become  householders     ....  44 

IV. — Concerning  art  and  literature  ...  66 

V. — Concerning  a  first  acquaintance       .        .  83 

VI. — Uncle  Joshua's  visit 102 

VII. — We  take  in  a  boarder 122 

VIII. — A  letter  from  Bohemia       .       .        .       .  143 

IX. — How  Jack  came  of  age         ....  152 

X. — We  go  to  ambulance  classes       .        .        .180 

XI. — We  require  the  doctor  professionally    .  202 

XII. — The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter      .  218 


BELINDA-AND  SOME  OTHERS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

HALF-A-DOZEN. 

We  were  half-a-dozen,  four  girls  and  two 
boys.  Our  parents  had  a  fancy  for  names 
terminating  in  a,  but  after  christening  me 
Maria,  their  memory  proved  unequal  to  the 
strain  of  four  daughters,  and  they  had  re- 
course to  novels  for  suggestions.  Hence  a 
Belinda,  an  Olivia,  and  a  Pamela.  The  boys 
answered  to  the  more  every-day  titles  of  Wil- 
liam and  Jack. 

About  our  ages  there  were  two  points  to 
remember.  First,  that  Pamela  was  barely 
seventeen,  and  the  youngest;  secondly,  that 
we  were  said  to  be  the  only  annuals  on  record 
ever  known  to  become  perennials. 


2  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

Olivia,  next  in  age  to  Pamela,  was  quick 
at  assimilating  modern  notions.  She  tried 
to  persuade  us  that  small  families  at  large 
distances  are  considered  better  form  than  the 
old-fashioned  yearly  method,  and  pointed  out 
how  by  a  little  judicious  rearrangement  and 
borrowing  a  few  years  from  the  future,  we 
could  contrive  to  fall  in  with  more  recent 
ideas  on  population.  Thus,  Pamela  was  to 
remain  seventeen — at  which  she  grumbled  a 
little;  Olivia  herself  to  move  on  to  nineteen; 
William  to  twenty-one;  Belinda  to  twenty- 
three;  Jack  to  twenty-five;  and  I  to  twenty- 
seven. 

For  once  in  our  lives  Belinda  and  I 
agreed.  We  snubbed  Olivia,  telling  her  we 
preferred  to  keep  young  and  yet  be  out  of 
date,  when,  nothing  daunted,  she  hazarded 
that  we  should  pair  of?  in  three  lots  of  twins 
or  two  triplets.  We  might  take  our  choice 
or  decide  by  vote.  But  to  this  Jack  objected. 
He  said  if  we  were  orphans  that  was  no  rea- 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  3 

son  why  we  should  be  ridiculous,  and  begged 
Olivia  to  confine  her  theories  on  population 
to  the  cat. 

We  lived  at  Riverside  Court.  The  house 
and  gardens,  large,  old-fashioned  and  pic- 
turesque, belonged  to  Uncle  Joshua.  We 
seldom  spoke  of  him  except  to  strangers; 
then  "  our  Uncle  in  South  Africa  "  came  in 
handy  as  a  peg  to  hang  small  talk  upon  and 
put  us  in  touch  with  the  outside  world,  for  in 
this  last  decade  of  the  century  we  had  gained 
the  notion  that  everything  which  was  not 
Japanese  was  South  African,  and  vice  versa. 

When  Uncle's  letter  came  saying  he  was 
returning  to  take  possession  of  his  own  after 
an  absence  of  twenty-five  years,  we  called  a 
family  parliament  to  discuss  the  situation. 
Having  all  been  born  and  grown  up  in  "  The 
Court,"  this  sudden  facing  of  the  fact  that 
though  ours  by  habitation,  association,  and 
spoliation,  legally  it  was  Joshua  Chilcott's — 
his  and   his  alone — rather   overwhelmed   us 


4  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

and  checked  that  flow  of  high  spirits,  ever 
our  cheerful  characteristic.  Even  Jinks  was 
subdued. 

Jinks  would  have  been  a  Yorkshire  ter- 
rier had  not  his  intentions  been  frustrated. 
When  extreme  youth  prevented  anyone  de- 
ciding his  exact  value  save  his  first  owner, 
who  turned  out  to  be  mistaken  in  assessing 
it  at  twelve  guineas,  Jinks  was  bought  by 
a  great  friend  of  ours  to  be  used  as  a  muff- 
warmer.  Shortly,  she  sent  him  to  Belinda, 
saying  he  grew  at  such  a  rate  she  felt  sure  in 
time  he  would  be  a  Newfoundland.  Belinda 
hoped  he  would,  but  unfortunately  his  devel- 
opment ceased  when  too  large  for  any  of 
the  smaller  breed  of  dogs  and  too  small  for 
any  of  the  larger.  He  retained  a  few  of  the 
Yorkshire  points  about  the  head,  but  his 
body  and  legs  no  one  was  ever  able  to  qualify. 
His  temper  was  above  reproach,  and  we  loved 
him  none  the  less  that  his  appearance  was 
unique  even  for  a  mongrel. 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  5 

We  had  always  knovvn  that  Riverside 
Court  belonged  to  uncle,  that  in  fact  we 
were  keeping  it  warm  for  him.  But  after 
so  many  years  some  of  the  warmth — of  pos- 
session— had  stolen  unawares  into  our  own 
souls.  We  had,  too,  always  fallen  back  on 
the  reflection  that  no  South  African  million- 
aire would  care  to  live  in  such  a  tumble-down 
old  place. 

We  had  no  authority  for  believing  our 
relative  a  millionaire.  It  was  just  part  of  our 
way  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things. 

William  said,  now  and  again,  we  must  not 
forget  that  Americans — and  if  Americans, 
why  not  Africans? — will  go  into  ecstasies 
over  picturesque  dilapidations  and  give  fabu- 
lous prices  for  an  air  of  ancient  discomfort, 
combined  with  draughts,  such  as  haunted 
The  Court.  But  then  William's  notions 
were  out  of  harmony  with  the  rest  of  the 
family's.  He  was  so  intensely  practical  from 
his  youth  up,  that  we  suspected  him  of  being 


6  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

a  changeling.  His  temperament  belonged  to 
the  era  of  wool  mats  and  glass  cases,  and 
he  was  entirely  without  the  artistic  tenden- 
cies with  which  his  sisters  and  brothers  were 
richly  endowed. 

But  to  return  to  Uncle. 

His  coming  home  at  all  was  a  surprise. 
When  we  learned  that  he  would  put  foot  on 
English  soil  as  poor  a  man  as  when  he  left  it, 
we  were  grieved  as  well  as  surprised.  His 
personal  appearance,  however,  proved  the 
greatest  shock  we  had  to  encounter.  We 
expected  what  is  termed  "  a  burly  man," 
topped  by  a  pleasant  rosy  face,  and  surround- 
ed by  a  hearty — even  noisy — manner.  One 
who  might  possibly  wear  side-whiskers,  and 
probably  a  thick  gold  watch-chain;  who 
would  laugh  immoderately  at  his  own  jokes 
and  never  see  his  neighbour's.  His  alphabet 
would  be  badly  arranged.  The  letter  h,  for 
instance,  would  constantly  be  detected  in  the 
wrong  place.     At  first,  we  should  feel  a  trifle 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  7 

ashamed  of  this  rough  diamond;  later,  his 
sterling  quaHties,  aided  by  a  large  fortune — 
brought  over  in  the  original  nuggets — would 
oust  this  false  pride  and  we  should  value  him 
accordingly. 

Belinda,  whose  artistic  tendencies  were 
balanced  by  some  other  qualities,  was  not 
sure  about  the  h.  She  said  the  abuse  of  this 
letter  is  an  hereditary  failing,  like  insanity  or 
consumption;  but  being  less  interesting,  it  is 
not  so  often  mentioned  by  descendants.  Now, 
neither  of  our  grandparents  were  known  to 
have  been  wanting  in  aspirates;  why  there- 
fore should  Joshua,  their  eldest  son?  At  any 
rate,  she,  for  one,  would  hope  for  the  best. 

Uncle  arrived,  pale,  small,  and  thin; 
clean-shaven,  save  for  a  slight  moustache, 
and  speaking  with  a  pedantic  nicety  as  to  his 
choice  of  words  in  a  hesitating  manner. 

He  knew  more  about  current  events  than 
we  did;  but  of  course  one  is  obliged  to  read 
up  home  news  when  abroad,  or  it  would  look 


\ 


8  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

as  if  you  could  not  afford  a  paper.  He  wrote 
again  on  landing  at  Liverpool,  asking  us  to 
get  the  house  ready  for  him,  but  begging  us 
not  to  leave  until  he  had  made  our  acquaint- 
ance; though  he  intimated,  apologetically, 
that  we  should  have  to  find  another  home, 
as  he  hardly  felt  justified  in  supporting  half 
a  dozen. 

Along  with  our  artistic  tendencies  we  had 
inherited  two  hundred  pounds  a  year,  which 
divided  by  six  gave  us  each  thirty-three 
pounds  annually.  Some  said  there  was  a 
lawyer's  fee  round  as  well.  I  took  this  state- 
ment on  trust,  owning  a  dislike  to  figures. 
We  had  lived  rent  free  for  so  long,  surround- 
ed by  a  garden  which  throve  upon  neglect 
and  produced  vegetables  and  weeds  with  the 
same  reckless  impartiality,  that  we  had  never 
realised  what  in  an  elastic  sum  our  income 
was.  William  too,  though  he  slept  openly — 
i.  e.  with  his  mouth  open — when  we  discussed 
the  wailings  of  the  last  minor  poet,  was  intelli- 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  g 

gent  at  keeping  the  hens  up  to  their  duty, 
and  understood  the  ways  of  pigs  with  a  thor- 
oughness that  suggested  a  weakness  for  ba- 
con and  considerably  reduced  the  household 
expenses. 

For  the  first  time  in  our  remembrance 
finance  assumed  a  really  serious  aspect. 

"  We  must  go  to  London,"  said  Belinda, 
who,  though  not  the  eldest,  had,  by  long 
usurpation,  gained  the  right  of  speaking  first 
on  every  matter.  "  There  is  so  much  more 
scope  for  talent  in  London.  With  what  in- 
come we  have  and  what  we  shall  make  we 
might  manage  very  well.  I  have  prepared  a 
little  estimate  of  expenses." 

She  pulled  a  bit  of  paper  out  of  her  pocket 
and  read  out: — 


Rent     ....     £40 

0 

0 

Housekeeping  .         75 

0 

0 

Dress  for  four    .        60 

0 

0 

Servant     ...        15 

0 

0 

Five  dogs'  licenses      I 

17 

6 

Total  .     £ic)l     17     6' 


10  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

"  There's  eight  pounds  two-and-six-pence 
over,"  she  concluded  modestly.  "  But  of 
course  unexpected  expenses  are  sure  to  crop 
up.  You  see  I  haven't  calculated  anything 
beyond  food  and  lodging  for  the  boys — of 
course  they  will  make  their  own  pocket 
money." 

"  You  haven't  calculated  for  the  rates  and 
taxes  either,"  replied  William.  "  And  one 
pound  seventeen-and-six  for  dogs'  licenses 
seems  a  large  item  compared  with  thirty  bob 
a  week  for  housekeeping — I  don't  think  we 
can  take  the  puppies." 

Belinda  was  silent.  She  had  a  theory 
that  people  only  argue  when  they  mean  to 
give  in.  She  had  every  intention  of  taking 
the  four  collie  puppies,  whose  mother  had 
died  with  brown  eyes  pleading  humanly  with 
us  to  guard  her  children. 

Jack  looked  glum.  "  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  Art,  and  take  to  Caricature,"  he  sighed 
despondently. 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  1 1 

*'  You  might  begin  with  William,"  replied 
Belinda,  remembering  his  criticism  on  her  es- 
timate. 

I  hastened  to  throw  oil  upon  the  waters. 

"  'Tis  true  that  William  is  a  plain  boy, 
Belinda,  but  then  he  is  useful.  It  is  not  often 
that  people  combine  both  use  and  ornament 
— like  you  and  I.  Take  Jack  for  instance, 
he  is  ornamental,  very,  but  who  could  call 
him  useful?  " 

Belinda  then  went  on  to  tell  us  how  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  become  a  fashion 
artist.  It  was — apparently — the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world.  All  you  had  to  do  was  to  keep 
your  eyes  open;  go  about  among  well- 
dressed  people,  come  home,  sketch  the 
dresses,  add  ideas  of  your  own,  send  them 
to  some  ladies'  paper — and  there  you  were! 

Belinda  had  had  a  passion  for  dress  from 
her  earliest  infancy.  At  six  months,  so  tra- 
dition ran,  she  wore  her  sash  with  an  air  of 
distinction,  and  evinced  a  desire  for  a  shoe 


12  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

to  be  put  on  one  foot  and  a  boot  on  the  other, 
under  the  impression  that  it  added  style  to 
her  "  tootsies."  At  twenty  she  had  various 
dodges  known  only  to  herself  for  making  a 
small  allowance  go  a  long  way.  She  would 
put  real  flowers  in  her  hat,  spreading  a  little 
gum  on  the  leaves  to  give  them  a  false  ap- 
pearance. Even  the  insects  were  taken  in. 
There  was  frequently,  to  use  an  old  and 
homely  expression,  a  bee  in  Belinda's  bonnet. 
Then  by  judiciously  choosing  a  material  that 
knew  its  right  side  from  its  wrong,  and  a 
great  deal  of  sewing,  she  appeared  to  have 
two  dresses  to  her  sisters'  one. 

Belinda's  figure  was  all  her  own;  among 
us  all  she  alone  possessed  a  standing  pose 
that  a  soldier  might  have  envied,  and  move- 
ments which  were  the  graceful  outcome  of 
slim  yet  rounded  proportions.  Mine  was 
somewhat  similar,  but  accentuated,  very  ac- 
centuated; and  Olivia's  a  trifle  like  it,  but 
elongated,  decidedly  elongated.     But  figure 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  ,     13" 

apart,  Pamela  was  the  beauty  of  the  family. 
She  had  hair  the  colour  of  the  copper  beech's 
leaves  in  the  young,  young  days  of  Spring; 
and  her  eyes  were  like  the  glimpses  of  blue  sky 
between  its  branches.  When  Pamela  was 
near,  we  racked  our  brains  for  some  old  dear- 
loved  joke  to  make  her  smile,  for  then  we  saw 
the  dimple  in  the  upturned  chin,  and  the  small 
white  teeth.  Pamela  never  laughed  without 
faintly  blushing,  and  never  blushed  without 
smiling  as  if  amused  at  her  own  foolishness  in 
letting  the  swift  colour  dye  her  lovely  face 
from  brow  to  chin.  She  was  clever  at  ar- 
ranging flowers,  and  once  won  a  prize  at  the 
local  flower  show,  and  was  quite  an  adept  at 
making  trifles  that  sell  well  at  bazaars.  We 
hardly  liked  to  ask  her  what  occupation  she 
intended  adopting,  she  looked  too  young  to 
have  decided  opinions.  But  this  proved  a 
fallacy  when  she  announced  a  firm  intention 
of  teaching  drawing  only  in  a  private  family. 
Jack  feared  it  would  be  a  difficult  post  to  get. 


X4  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

"  You  will  probably  find,"  he  said,  "  that 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  English,  conver- 
sational French,  German,  Elementary  Latin, 
calisthenics  and  dancing  must  be  thrown  in 
as  well;  and  perhaps  you'll  have  to  undertake 
the  harmonium  also." 

Pamela  and  Jack  did  not  always  agree. 
On  this  occasion  she  resented  his  superior 
information. 

"  Of  course  you  must  put  your  spoke  in," 
she  said  flippantly. 

We  did  not  ask  William  his  intentions. 
They  invariably  tended  toward  dry  subjects. 
He  had  a  great  facility  for  figures,  had  learnt 
shorthand  as  a  pastime,  and  found  double 
entry  a  pleasure.  His  education,  as  a  whole, 
had  been  desultory,  run  on  the  lines  of  never 
attempting  to  master  any  uncongenial  sub- 
ject. The  result  was  somewhat  curious:  he 
came  out  head  of  the  school  in  mathematics, 
could  place  any  spot  on  the  globe  and  give 
its  longitude  from  memory,  and  had  an  idea 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


15 


that  Edward  III.  and  Charles  II.  were  broth- 
ers. BeHnda  said  power  of  concentration 
was  a  feature  of  great  minds,  and  we  felt 
that  William  would  get  on.  For  some  few 
months  he  had  earned  a  small  salary,  together 
with  experience,  as  a  clerk  to  a  solicitor  in 
our  local  town  of  D . 

So  Jack  decided  to  spurn  Art  and  em- 
brace Caricature;  Belinda  also  to  spurn  Art 
and  embrace  Fashions: — some  have  been 
known  to  say  these  also  come  under  the 
heading  of  Caricature.  Pamela's  hopes,  on 
the  other  hand,  were  founded  on  a  School  of 
Art  Certificate  for  Freehand.  William  had 
no  ideals,  and  his  career  promised  to  be  suc- 
cessful but  uninteresting. 

There  only  remained  Olivia  and  my- 
self. 

I  was  not  as  clever  as  Belinda;  I  did  not 
know  as  much  as  Olivia.  They  acknowl- 
edged it  themselves.  Until  we  were  more 
settled,  I  decided  to  be  the  utility  member  of 


l6  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

the  company,  to  which  my  relatives  gracious- 
ly agreed. 

Around  Olivia  our  hopes  of  fame  centred. 
She  had  written  poems  that  had  met  with 
encouragement  from  an  author  whose  criti- 
cism she  requested,  at  the  same  time  beseech- 
ing his  autograph,  with  many  pretty  adjec- 
tives respecting  its  value,  enclosing  a 
stamped  envelope  for  reply.  She  did  not 
know  where  he  lived,  so  she  put  his  name  and 
"  London  "  merely  as  the  address.  In  after 
years  this  circumstance  led  her  to  believe  that 
the  letter  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  mere  tyro  in 
literature  of  the  same  name  as  the  great  man's 
she  had  intended  it  to  reach,  which  account- 
ed for  the  ready  sympathy  and  generous  ap- 
preciation of  the  reply.  These  same  poems 
were  afterward  published — gratuitously — in  a 
weekly  paper.  In  the  face  of  so  much  suc- 
cess, she  felt  it  wrong  not  to  persevere. 

In  person  Olivia  was  not  as  pretty  as  Pa- 
mela; her  hair  was  more  red  than  gold,  and 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  1 7 

her  eyes  in  some  lights  looked  black  and  in 
some  green.  Still  she  was  handsome  in  her 
own  way.  It  was  a  way  that  included  a 
pocket  frequently  hanging  out  of  her  plac- 
quet-hole,  and  a  good  many  inkspots  dis- 
tributed about  her  person.  William  asserted 
his  height  as  five  foot  nine,  Olivia  put  hers  at 
five  foot  seven;  that  they  both  looked  exactly 
the  same  length  to  the  casual  observer  she 
attributed  to  her  hair,  and  her  heels — though 
William  was  not  bald,  nor  deficient  in  boot- 
leather. 

Olivia  read  much,  and  had  ideas.  She 
also  had  a  typewriter,  bought  second-hand 
after  much  self-denial  and  saving  of  pocket 
money,  because  her  handwriting  was  so  illegi- 
ble that  an  irate  editor  once  returned  her  a 
manuscript  simply  accompanied  by  a  huge 
interrogation  point  which  defaced  the  entire 
front  page. 

To  learn  the  typewriter  thoroughly  she 
undertook  to  edit  a  private  magazine  and 


l8  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

type  the  contributions  herself.  These  latter 
came  in — from  the  few  friends  who  had  prom- 
ised to  patronise  the  venture — so  irregularly 
that  more  often  than  not  the  editress  wrote 
the  whole  magazine  herself,  signing  each 
article  with  a  different  pseudonym,  rather 
than  be  behindhand  with  her  literary  effort. 
Those  who  read  the  magazine  noticed  the 
similarity  of  style,  and  concluded  that  it  came 
from  all  the  articles  passing  through  the  same 
machine. 

Olivia  had  a  longing  to  enter  Bohemia 
and  mingle  with  the  great  in  Literature, 
Art,  and  the  Drama,  so  we  were  not  surprised 
when  she  said  she  had  no  intention  of  leaving 
the  "  Barlock  "  behind  for  Uncle  Joshua  to 
"  play  the  fool  with."  For  a  person  who 
could  compose  poetry,  Olivia's  conversa- 
tional prose  often  struck  me  as  being  a  little 
hard. 

William,  who  was  very  fond  of  Olivia, 
offered  to  teach  her  shorthand  (in  the  fort- 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  I9 

night  that  was  left  to  us  before  leaving  The 
Court)  as  a  set-ofT  to  type-writing. 

"  And  you  must  practise  hard  at  typing, 
too;  forty  or  fifty  words  a  minute  is  generally 
required,  and  you  never  got  beyond  twenty." 

But  Olivia  hoped  to  obtain  a  post  as  sec- 
retary to  a  poet,  for  whom  speed  would  be 
less  important.  She  knew  from  experience 
that  some  words — such  as  obnoxious  or  galaxy 
— are  slow  to  rhyme. 

By  the  time  we  had  discussed  our  plans 
well  we  grew  quite  excited  at  the  thought  of 
what  lay  before  us.  After  all,  life  would  be 
life  in  London,  whereas  in  the  country  it 
was  only  existence.  I  decided  to  go  up  to 
town  early  one  morning,  returning  the 
same  day,  and  take  rooms  from  which  we 
could  more  leisurely  seek  an  unfurnished  resi- 
dence. 

It  came  upon  us  with  quite  a  shock  to  re- 
member that  we  had  no  furniture.  With  the 
exception  of  the  Barlock,   Pamela's  guitar, 


20  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

Jack's  easel  and  lay  figure,  William's  bicycle, 

i 

Belinda's  dress  stand,  my  sewing  machine, 
our  golf  clubs,  tennis  racquets,  cricket  bats, 
and  a  few  trifles,  everything  in  the  house  was 
Uncle  Joshua's. 

Pamela  could  make  pincushions  and  tea- 
cosies,  whilst  Jack  had  a  set  of  dessert  doy- 
leys  he  had  etched  for  a  wedding  present. 
The  wedding  never  came  off,  and  he  put  them 
carefully  by.  Belinda  considered  these  arti- 
cles— when  we  enumerated  them — insuffi- 
cient. 

"  We  don't  want  our  new  house  to  look 
as  if  had  been  furnished  with  things  left  over 
from  a  bazaar!  "  she  cried. 

"  We  must  take  a  furnished  house,"  said 
Olivia,  "  to  begin  with." 

Had  Uncle  Joshua  been  returning  a 
wealthy  man,  we  might  have  found  it  incum- 
bent to  make  some  show  of  appearances;  but 
as  he  was,  if  not  an  actual  pauper,  at  least  a 
person  of  straitened  means,  we  felt  that  our 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  21 

usual  mode  of  life  would  best  fall  in  with  his 
mood. 

The  night  he  arrived,  therefore,  there  was 
cold  ham,  scrambled  eggs,  salad,  baked  po- 
tatoes, and  a  Dutch  cheese  for  supper. 

Uncle  Joshua  had  no  appetite. 

Together  with  Mary,  our  servant  for 
many  and  many  a  year,  we  had  made  some 
attempt  at  tidying  the  house.  Pamela  filled 
every  corner  with  fresh  spring  flowers,  and 
made  a  new  pincushion  for  Uncle's  room; 
and  Belinda  contrived  to  arrange  the  fur- 
niture so  that  the  hole  in  the  dining- 
room  carpet  did  not  show  on  first  acquaint- 
ance. 

Olivia  cried  so  much  at  the  prospect  of 
leaving  The  Court  that  she  was  obliged  to 
excuse  herself  from  the  supper-table,  and 
only  came  into  the  drawing-room  when  sure 
that  the  lamp-shade  was  arranged  to  ad- 
vantage. 

After  supper.  Uncle  asked  if  there  was 


22  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

a  train  into  D again  that  evening.     On 

hearing  there  was,  he  hurriedly  determined 
to  catch  it,  begging  us  not  to  sit  up  for 
him. 

WilHam,  too,  vanished. 

A  couple  of  hours  passed.  We  had  dis- 
cussed our  relative  w^ith  much  breadth  of 
criticism  from  every  point  of  view,  when  Wil- 
liam reappeared.  Closing  the  door,  he  sat 
down,  a  broad  grin  betokening  some  inward 
amusement.  He  too  had  gone  into  town 
unknown  to  Uncle  Joshua,  who  on  reaching 

D Station   had    gone   straight    to    the 

nearest  hotel  and  ordered  himself  a  dinner 
of  several  courses  and  a  bottle  of  expensive 
wine. 

"  For  a  poor  man,"  concluded  William, 
with  a  sigh,  "  he  has  an  uncommon  relish  for 
delicacies." 

Olivia,  hearing  the  sigh,  hurried  out  of 
the  room  with  that  thoughtfulness  she  be- 
stowed impartially  upon  William  and  herself 


HALF-A-DOZEN. 


23 


to  fetch  Dutch  cheese  and  a  glass  of  ale. 
Meanwhile  Belinda  gave  utterance  to  her  dis- 
approval of  William's  conduct.  What  right 
had  he  to  follow  Uncle,  and,  worse  still,  be 
seen  hanging  about  the  hotel  windows?  Of 
course  Uncle  wouldn't  get  rid  of  expensive 
habits  all  at  once. 

"  They  will  drop  off  by  degrees,"  she 
said. 

"  Well,  there's  no  sign  of  decay  at  pres- 
ent," responded  William. 

We  agreed  to  take  our  departure  on  the 
Tuesday  following  Uncle's  arrival.  He 
brought  but  a  small  amount  of  luggage  with 
him;  but  on  the  Monday  prior  to  our  going, 
as  we  came  in  from  paying  a  farewell  call 
upon  some  neighbours  we  found  the  hall  full 
to  overflowing  with  boxes  and  cases  of  every 
sort,  shape,  and  size. 

"  It's  the  rest  of  your  Uncle's  luggage, 
miss,"  whispered  Mary  importantly. 

Uncle  looked  rather  shamefacedly  on. 


24  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

"  Skins  and  things,"  he  murmured  once, 
catching  BeHnda's  eye. 

"I  see,"  repHed  Belinda  poHtely;  "what 
a  good  shot  you  must  be!  " 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  one  of  the  girls  to 
stay  behind  and  help  you  to  unpack?  "  asked 
Jack. 

But  Uncle  thought  he  could  manage. 

"  I  must  get  used  to  doing  things  for  my- 
self," he  sighed.     Poor  Uncle! 

Olivia  and  Pamela  wept  bitterly  on  the 
day  of  departure.  They  went  round  the 
house  arm-in-arm,  giving  little  farewell  pats 
to  favourite  window-seats,  and  kissed  the 
trees  and  shrubs  in  the  garden,  picking  a  leaf 
ofif  each  as  a  keepsake,  the  result  being  a  bou- 
quet of  unwieldy  dimensions. 

Uncle  followed  them,  looking  as  if  he  had 
something  on  his  mind,  but  could  not  put  it 
into  words. 

Belinda,  half  resentful,  half  eager, 
marched    out    of    the    gate    with    a    puppy 


HALF-A-DOZEN.  2$ 

under  each  arm  and  Jinks  at  her  heels. 
William  came  next,  bearing  miscellane- 
►  ous  articles  so  many  and  curious  as  would 
have  mortified  anyone  less  devoid  of  the 
sense  of  the  ridiculous;  I,  guilty  with  the 
knowledge  of  a  few  etceteras  packed  in  the 
family  trunk  that  scarcely  came  under  the 
heading  of  our  own  possessions,  brought  up 
the  rear  with  Jack,  looking  ashamed  of  the 
general  exodus. 

Uncle  stood  on  the  front  door-step,  small 
and  lonely;  at  least  we  were  together. 

"  Uncle,"  I  cried,  running  back,  "  mind 
you  send  for  us  if  you  get  ill.  I've  told  Mary 
to  order  you  New  Zealand  meat,  it  will  save 
you  a  lot;  and  don't  burn  candles,  oil  is  so 
much  cheaper." 

Half-way  to  the  station  Pamela  recollect- 
ed leaving  her  umbrella  in  the  schoolroom. 
Would  Jack  run  back  for  it?  Jack  did,  and 
only  had  time  to  fling  himself  into  the  car- 
riage as  the  train  was  moving. 


26  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"Joshua  was  smoking  a  cigar  that  cost 
something,  I'd  bet,"  he  said  savagely.  Jack's 
one  weakness  was  tobacco. 

For  a  poor  man,  Uncle  certainly  had  ex- 
pensive tastes. 


V 


CHAPTER    11. 

IN   LONDON   TOWN. 

The  rooms  I  had  selected  on  my  previous 
visit  to  London  were  in  Gower  Street. 
When  we  arrived  the  landlady  said  I  had  for- 
gotten to  tell  her  beforehand  I  was  bringing 
five  dogs  as  well  as  five  sisters  and  brothers. 
She  stood  dubiously  casting  about  in  her 
mind  whether  the  animals  should  be  allowed 
to  remain,  when  Belinda  stepped  forward 
and  settled  the  question. 

"  We  must  find  rooms  elsewhere,  if  you 
object  to  the  dogs.  I  thought,"  she  con- 
tinued plaintively,  "  that  everyone  knew  Miss 
Belinda  Chilcott  never  travelled  without  her 
dogs." 

The    landlady   glanced    at    the    puppies. 
3  27 


28  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

They  could  not  as  yet  walk  straight  upon  four 
legs,  much  less  two:  the  notion  that  we 
earned  a  livelihood  from  canine  performances 
faded  from  her  mind. 

Belinda  grew  a  little  depressed  upon  find- 
ing the  muzzling  order  in  full  force  in  the 
Metropolis.  It  entailed  buying  five  muzzles 
— indeed,  more  than  five;  for  the  puppies  not 
having  developed  any  features  worth  men- 
tioning, the  muzzles  came  off  so  frequently 
in  the  street  that  we  took  sides  on  the  ques- 
tion whether  it  was  less  expensive  to  buy  new 
ones  or  pay  the  fine  inflicted  on  unmuzzled 
owners. 

The  first  evening  in  London  we  talked  a 
great  deal,  more  even  than  usual.  Pamela 
spoke  feelingly  of  the  Past,  and  Olivia  dis- 
cussed the  Future;  by  the  tone  of  her  voice 
she  spelt  it  with  a  capital  F. 

Belinda  observed  that  if  one  looked  well 
after  the  Present,  the  Future  and  the  Past, 
especially  the  Past,  had  a  way  of  taking  care 


IN   LONDON  TOWN.  29 

of  themselves;  and  Jack  asked  if  we  had  no- 
ticed what  a  long  way  off  Riverside  Court  al- 
ready seemed  to  be.  William  put  the  dis- 
tance at  eighty-five  miles;  but  Jack,  it  turned 
out,  was  speaking  of  that  curious  sense  of  dis- 
tance which  falls  upon  one  on  leaving  an  old 
familiar  pasture  for  new  scenes. 

We    all    wondered — at     intervals — what- 
Uncle  was  doing;  and  we  all  looked  forward 
to  going  to  bed,  partly  because  we  were  tired, 
partly  because  it  would  be  such  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  shed  a  few  quiet  tears. 

At  eleven  o'clock  we  recollected  we  had 
not  unpacked.  William,  knowing  women 
took  a  considerable  time  in  undoing  boxes, 
excused  himself  and  retired,  saying  if  by  good 
chance  we  came  across  his  pyjamas,  would 
we  send  them  up  to  him,  as  it  was  stiff  work 
sleeping  in  a  starched  shirt. 

The  next  morning  Jack  determined  to 
spend  sitting  by  the  window  and  take  notes 
with  his  pencil. 


30  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  You  see,  girls,"  he  explained,  "  on  first 
coming  to  a  big  city  like  London,  points 
strike  you  which,  after  a  few  months'  resi- 
dence, you  would  pass  over  unnoticed.  So 
I'll  sit  here  and  do  a  couple  of  sketches  and 
send  them  to  the  Daily  Graphic  on  the  chance 
of  their  being  accepted." 

"  You  might  do  a  series  and  call  them 
'  First  Impressions  of  a  Country  Bumpkin,'  " 
suggested  I,  but  Jack  did  not  fall  in  readily 
with  this  hint. 

"  I'm  not  a  bumpkin,"  he  said  aggriev- 
edly. 

Belinda,  Olivia,  and  I  went  out  to  look  at 
the  shops.  Belinda,  without  taking  us  into 
her  confidence,  all  at  once  entered  a  smart 
milliner's,  requesting  to  be  shown  some  hats. 
She  selected  three  or  four  expensive  models 
and  directed  them  to  be  sent  immediately 
round,  giving  our  address. 

"  If  I  keep  one,  I  shall  of  course,  as  I  am 
not  yet  a  customer  of  yours,  pay  on  delivery." 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  .31 

She  laid  great  stress  on  the  yet  and  was 
bowed  out  with  ceremony.  She  next  went 
to  a  draper's,  where  she  purchased  a  straw 
shape,  some  flowers  and  ribbons,  and  we  then 
returned  to  our  temporary  dwelHng. 

Jack,  tempted  by  the  April  sunshine,  had 
gone  out,  leaving  his  sketch-book  on  the 
table. 

"  Jack  is  right,"  observed  Olivia  critically. 
"  Uncle  Joshua's  nose  is  not  a  point  which 
would  strike  the  resident  Londoner  in  Gower 
Street." 

The  hats  came  shortly  after  we  had  got 
in.  Belinda  having  kindly  offered  the  er- 
rand-boy who  brought  them  a  chair  in  the 
hall  and  a  Pick-Me-Up  to  pass  the  time,  tried 
them  all  on,  and  then  selecting  the  one  which 
pleased  her  most,  placed  it  in  front  of  her  on 
the  table,  and  with  a  liberal  supply  of  pins  in 
a  few  minutes  fashioned  her  own  materials 
on  the  shape  she  had  bought  in  excellent 
imitation  of  the  Paris  model.     She  then  re- 


32  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

packed  the  hats  carefully,  and  sallied  out  to 
the  boy. 

"  Tell  Madame  Pompon  Miss  Chilcott  is 
sorry  none  of  them  are  exactly  what  she  re- 
quires.    I  will  call  again  some  day  soon." 

"  Belinda  is /'  said  Pamela,  with  em- 
phasis. 

This  unfinished  saying  had  become  quite 
a  proverb  in  the  family,  and  expressed  much 
which  it  would  not  have  done  to  put  in  more 
explicit  form. 

Belinda  came  back  smiling,  and  sat  down 
to  tot  up  the  price  of  her  new  hat  on  the  back 
of  an  envelope. 

"  Seven-and-six,  and  quite  as  good  " — 
here,  seeing  the  difference  between  velvet  and 
velveteen  in  my  eye,  she  repeated  obstinate- 
ly — "  quite  as  good  as  the  two-guinea 
model." 

As  a  precaution  against  overstepping  our 
income,  Olivia  had  divided  a  small  account- 
book  into  three  divisions,  wherein,  when  she 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  33 

remembered,  she  entered  the  family  expendi- 
ture.    The  first  division  was  headed: 

"  THE   NECESSARIES   OF   LIFE," 

the  second — 

"  THINGS   POSSIBLE   TO    DO   WITHOUT," 

and  the  third — 

"  SUPERFLUOUS  EXTRAVAGANCES." 

Olivia  was  fond  of  long  words. 

Producing  this  book  from  her  pocket,  she 
turned  severely  to  the  third  division,  and 
glanced  interrogatively  at  Belinda. 

"  My  hat!  "  exclaimed  that  person,  cheer- 
fully, trying  it  on  again  to  see  if  it  would 
look  more  chic  back  foremost — "  Oh,  of 
course  it  must  go  under  the  necessaries  of 
hfe." 

Olivia  objected.  "  You  could  do  without 
a  hat;  witness  the  Bluecoat  boys,  for  in- 
stance." 


34  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

After  some  argument  it  was  entered  as  a 
thing  difficult  to  do  without. 

Olivia  wished  we  would  remind  her  al- 
ways to  put  down  the  items,  and  not  take  it 
upon  ourselves  to  interfere. 

"  Here's  William,"  she  complained,  "has 
entered  the  laundress  as  a  superfluous  ex- 
travagance, and  Jack  has  put  down  gamboge 
as  a  necessity  of  life!  " 

Jack  had  also  put  down  tobacco  under 
"  Things  Possible  to  do  Without,"  the  tail  of 
the  O  trailed  away  until  it  ran  over  the  edge 
of  the  book.  Olivia  said  it  reminded  her 
of  a  long-drawn  sigh,  which  remark  so 
worked  upon  Pamela's  feelings  that  she 
seized  the  book  and  wrote  "  Vinolia  " — the 
name  of  a  soap  to  which  she  was  much  ad- 
dicted— in  stern  characters  in  the  column  de- 
voted to  chronicling  extravagance.  Belinda 
told  us  how  she  always  found  small  indul- 
gences economical  in  the  end,  they  saved  her 
wear  and  tear  of  temper. 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  35 

After  lunch  we  decided  to  go  house-hunt- 
ing. 

"  We  shall  cover  a  larger  area  and  meet 
with  more  results  if  we  divide,"  said  William. 

So  we  settled  to  go  in  two  parties — ^Jack 
to  take  Belinda  and  me,  whilst  WiUiam  es- 
corted Olivia  and  Pamela. 

We  asked  the  landlady  to  give  us  her 
opinion  on  localities. 

"  London's  a  large  place,"  she  observed 
in  answer:  after  repeating  this  opinion  sev- 
eral times,  she  advised  us  to  look  in  a  map 
of  the  Metropolis  and  offered  to  lend  us 
hers. 

William's  idea  was  to  cross  through  all 
districts  we  knew  to  be  impossible.  It  was 
not  until  the  map  was  well  scored  with  ink, 
and  Bloomsbury  was  obliterated  by  a  huge 
blot,  that  we  remembered  it  was  the  land- 
lady's. 

"  We  shall  have  to  buy  a  new  one  now," 
grumbled  Olivia:  "  I  shall  piit  it  down  as  an 


*   36  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

extravagance  caused  by  William's  bump  of 
destruction." 

After  we  had  rejected  Park  Lane,  and  the 
district  round  Hyde  Park,  Harley  Street, 
Eaton  Square,  and  Pall  Mall,  there  still  re- 
mained considerable  choice. 

"  Westminster  must  also  be  scratched 
through,"  said  Pamela,  "  because  it's  sure  to 
be  ruinous,  the  M.Ps.  must  live  near  the 
House." 

So  Westminster  was  struck  off,  also  Ham- 
mersmith, we  could  not  of  course  live  in 
Hammersmith.  Olivia  inclined  to  Bays- 
water.  She  had  a  notion  that  it  was  another 
name  for  Bohemia;  afterward  she  discovered 
that  they  both  began  with  a  B,  but  there 
the  similarity  terminated  somewhat  abruptly. 
Finally  she,  Pamela,  and  William  started  for 
Bayswater. 

Jack  remained  poring  over  the  map.  He 
had  heard  Sloane  Square  was  very  central 
and  convenient. 


IN   LONDON    TOWN.  37 

"  Here's  a  little  unimportant-looking 
street!"  he  exclaimed. 

We  looked  where  he  pointed.  It  was 
Cadogan  Street.  We  decided  to  try  it, 
though  I  seemed  to  remember  it  in  connec- 
tion with  Society  paragraphs — in  which 
case  .  .  . 

However,  as  the  Irishman  said,  starting 
saves  time  even  if  you  go  in  the  wrong  direc- 
tion; and  we  sallied  forth  to  explore  the 
neighbourhood  of  Sloane  Square. 

We  took  an  omnibus  and  were  some  time 
on  the  road,  exactly  how  long  we  did  not 
know.  Jack  had  a  gold  watch  and  chain; 
the  watch  did  not  go  on  account  of  the 
mainspring  being  broken,  but  it  looked 
well.  William  had  a  Waterbury,  which  went 
excellently  but  looked — well,  it  looked 
just  a  Waterbury.  When  he  had  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  to  spare  he  wound  it  up, 
if  pressed  for  time  one  of  the  girls  did 
it    for    him.      Jack's    watch    kept    up    the 


38  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

family  appearances  and  William's  kept  the 
time. 

We  changed  'buses  three  times  between 
Gower  Street  and  Sloane  Square.  The  last 
one  put  us  down  at  Cadogan  Place.  We  had 
sat  on  the  outside,  the  driver  genially  point- 
ing out  places  of  interest  with  his  whip  as  we 
went  by. 

"  The  minit  Oi  clapt  heyes  hon  yer,  I 
sez,  'Ere's  some  'Mericans.  'Mericans  they 
hallus  wears  them  soft  'ats." 

Belinda  trod  on  Jack's  toe  to  prevent  his 
patriotism  denying  this  false  charge. 

"  It's  better  to  be  considered  Americans 
than  country  cousins,"  she  whispered;  but 
Jack  still  looked  sick  at  his  artistic  hat  being 
thought  Yankee. 

We  wandered  about  various  streets,  ter- 
races, and  places  labelled  Cadogan.  There 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  houses  to  let,  so  at 
length  we  asked  a  policeman  to  direct  us  to 
an  estate  agency. 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  39 

Belinda  insisted  on  going  in  alone.  She 
had  on  her  new  hat,  and  her  brown  hair  be- 
neath it  was  arranged  in  the  extreme  of  fash- 
ion.    We  waited  outside. 

"  I'm  not  sure,  Maria,"  said  Jack,  mood- 
ily, "  that  if  you  go  to  work  in  Belinda's  way, 
a  new  hat  doesn't  rightly  come  under  the  ne- 
cessities of  life." 

When  Belinda  reappeared  she  related 
how  she  had  first  asked  if  there  were  any  flats 
to  let  in  the  neighbourhood,  from  flats  she 
got  on  to  houses.  One  of  the  latter  had  been 
let,  the  agent  said,  that  morning,  at  four 
hundred  pounds  per  annum.  Belinda 
found  this  vexatious,  as  it  seemed,  by  de- 
scription, to  be  just  what  she  required.  The 
interview  concluded  by  the  agent  promising 
to  send  a  list  of  any  houses  he  thought 
suitable. 

"  It's  my  opinion,"  said  I,  "  that  we  shall 
have  to  live  in  the  suburbs." 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Belinda,  "  I  knew 


40  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

from  the  look  of  these  houses  the  rents  would 
be  enormous." 

"  Then  why  did  you  go  on  making  en- 
quiries? "  queried  Jack  morosely. 

"  I  might  be  able  to  take  one  some  day," 
answered  Belinda. 

We  received  this  information  with  silent 
contempt.  Who  was  Belinda  that  she 
should — and  could — imagine  herself  in  Cado- 
gan  Place,  whilst  we  meditated  upon  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  suburbs? 

After  some  tea  in  an  aerated  bread  shop, 
we  retraced  our  way  slowly  to  Gower  Street. 
It  was  six  o'clock  before  we  got  in,  finding 
the  others  had  arrived  before  us. 

At  first  they  had  wondered  that  Bays- 
water  was  so  little  known,  for  the  omnibus 
conductor  on  being  told  to  put  them  down 
there  kept  on  repeating  "  Where?  " 

"  It  subsequently  transpired,"  said  Olivia, 
"  that  he  meant  where  in  Bayswater?  " 

William,  whose  survey  of  the  map  had  left 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  ^j 

a  complete  impression  on  his  mind,  men- 
tioned the  Queen's  Road  as  their  desired  des- 
tination. On  passing  a  house  agent's  he  had 
entered,  and,  with  that  total  contempt  for 
appearances  which  was  ever  his  peculiarity, 
asked  for  particulars  of  the  cheapest  house 
on  the  books. 

The  clerk  replied  he  had  nothing  under 
fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  that  could  only  by 
courtesy  be  termed  Bayswater. 

"  You  won't  get  what  you  want,  sir,  out- 
side the  suburbs." 

"Then  I  should  be. so  glad,"  went  on 
William,  "  if  you  would  give  me  a  few 
hints  as  to  the  suburbs  most  pleasant  to 
live  in.  I  am  "  (here  he  glanced  affection- 
ately at  Pamela)  "  soon  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." 

The  clerk  was  young;  he  grew  sympa- 
thetic and  confidential,  telling  them  how  he, 
too,  soon  hoped  to  be  married  and  set  up 
his  domestic  tent  in  some  suburban  Arcadia. 


42  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

The  amount  of  information  he  delivered  in  a 
short  space  of  time  was  amazing. 

FeeHng  that  WilHam  had  a  real  talent  for 
house-hunting,  we  accepted  his  offer  to  be 
the  pioneer  in  this  affair. 

"  And  I  will  go  alone,  too,"  he  went  on, 
"  it  will  be  cheaper:  why,  just  we  three  going 
about  to-day  made  such  a  hole  in  two  bob^ 
that  what  change  there  was  dropped  through 
and  got  lost  for  ever." 

"  Oh!  go  alone,  by  all  means,"  we  cried, 
"  and  when  you  find  anything  suitable  we'll 
go  in  a  body  and  criticise  it." 

Then  somebody  suggested  it  was  a  pity 
to  waste  the  evening,  could  we  not  manage  a 
theatre?  So  we  hurried  over  supper  and 
started.  Some  inclined  to  the  Lyceum,  but 
William  said  that  the  agent's  clerk  when 
discussing  the  merits  of  no  basements  com- 
pared to  areas  had  mentioned  what  an  ex- 
ceedingly enjoyable  play  was  "  Charley's 
Aunt." 


IN   LONDON   TOWN.  43 

"  It  will  do  Pamela  good  to  have  a  laugh/* 
finished  our  considerate  brother. 

Although  it  was  past  midnight  when  we 
returned,  Olivia  hunted  up  the  account-book 
of  expenditure.  She  ruled  the  inside  of  the 
cover  and  entered,  "  Charley's  Aunt,"  six 
seats  thirty  shillings. 

"  It  seemed  to  require  a  new  heading," 
she  said,  closing  the  book,  "  so  I  have  put  it 
under  Educational." 


CHAPTER    III. 

WE    BECOME    HOUSEHOLDERS. 

So  it  was  owing  to  William  that  we  be- 
came the  tenants  of  Number  3  Triangle 
Lawn,  Brick  Park,  S.W. 

After  he  had  explored  some  eight  suburbs 
and  inspected  between  fifty  and  sixty  houses, 
he  grew  quite  opinionated  on  the  subject 
of  suburban  dwellings,  and  declared  that  we 
never  could,  never  should,  get  a  house  to  suit 
us  better  than  the  one  at  Brick  Park.  On 
condition  that  we  did  all  the  necessary  repairs 
at  our  own  expense,  the  landlord  took  five 
pounds  off  the  rent,  which  brought  it  down  to 
thirty-five.  It  was  not  a  bad  little  house.  Its 
exterior  was  neat  and  quasi-rural,  with  creep- 
ers covering  red  brick  and  wooden  windows. 
44 


WE  BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  45 

The  rooms,  if  small,  were  numerous  and  airy; 
the  details  of  rates,  taxes,  soil,  and  drains 
appeared  satisfactory — only,  well,  we  were  a 
little  vexed  with  William  in  that  he  had  for- 
gotten to  keep  in  mind  those  points  for  which 
we  had  especially  stipulated. 

Jack  had  begged  him  to  remember  that  a 
north  light  is  as  essential  to  an  artist  as  his 
india-rubber.  No.  3  faced  due  east  and  west. 
William,  in  excuse,  said  he  had  always  under- 
stood that  dawn  and  sunset  were  favourite 
effects  with  artists.  Jack  said:  "William's 
all  right,  but  he's  so  silly!  " 

Belinda,  too,  was  irritated,  which  with  her 
meant  irritable  as  well.  The  ends  of  two  bor- 
oughs met  on  the  triangular  green  lawn 
which  gave  our  road  its  name;  the  muzzling 
order  was  in  force  in  one  borough,  and  not  in 
the  other.  It  was  obvious  to  everyone  ex- 
cept William  that  we  should  have  taken 
No.  33  instead  of  No.  3,  where  the  puppies 
could  have  played  about  the  road  unmuzzled. 


46  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

Belinda  did  not  take  into  account  that  No.  33 
was  so  near  the  railway  line  that  its  last  oc- 
cupants had  left,  saying  they  had  rented  a 
railway-station  unawares. 

Pamela,  too,  cried  when  she  discovered 
there  were  no  bow-windows,  but  cheered  up  a 
little  when  Olivia  pointed  out  the  possibilities 
of  four  cosy  corners  in  the  drawing-room. 

I  was  content;  a  box-room  large  enough 
for  three  boxes,  and  two  cupboards  on  the 
stairs,  so  far  surpassed  my  expectations.  So 
too  was  Olivia,  who  openly  acknowledged 
her  liking  for  the  house,  at  which  the  dis- 
contented ones  hinted  at  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  a  Free  Library  as  a  motive 
for  this  partiality. 

We  had  at  first  entertained  some  idea  of 
furnishing  on  the  hire  system;  but  on  inter- 
viewing the  furniture  to  be  paid  for  by  instal- 
ments, we  decided  that  though  the  system 
might  be  the  hire,  our  spirits  would  certainly 
be  the  lower  for  having  those  artistic  tend- 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  47 

encies  before  mentioned  brought  in  daily 
contact  with  such  jarring  ugliness. 

"  We  must  pick  up  things  at  sales,"  said 
Olivia,  vaguely;  "and  at  curio-shops,  I  be- 
lieve, bric-a-brac  and  old  oak  can  be  got  for  a 
mere  song." 

William  objected  to  picking  up  his  bed  at 
a  sale. 

*'  I  might,"  he  said,  "  get  more  than  I 
bargained  for." 

William  was  not  over-refined. 

Ultimately  we  sold  out  a  small  sum  of 
capital,  determining  to  make  it  sufficient  to 
cover  the  adornment  of  our  new  house. 

Pamela  wrote  to  the  editress  of  a  column 
devoted  to  hints  on  house-furnishing  in  a 
lady's  paper.  After  we  had  spent  all  we  had 
to  spend  and  a  few  sixpences  beside  in  buy- 
ing the  paper  each  week,  the  answer  ap- 
peared. It  declared  that  Pamela  had  forgot- 
ten to  comply  with  most  of  the  rules  for  cor- 
respondents, and  hinted  that  she  would  not 


48  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

be  replied  to  again  unless  she  conformed  to 
the  etiquette  of  the  column.  She  had  also 
omitted  to  state  how  many  rooms,  her  house 
contained,  and  what  sum  she  contemplated 
lavishing  on  its  decoration.  If  she  would 
write  these  details,  clearly  and  fully,  stating 
her  favourite  colours  and  styles  of  furnishing, 
she  should  be  answered  at  length.  Mean- 
while she  was  not  to  purchase  anything  in  a 
hurry. 

We  left  Gower  Street  early  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  day  we  were  to  take  possession  of 
the  house,  A  charwoman,  who  had  been 
sent  by  the  landlord  to  clean  the  house,  ad- 
mitted us.  We  engaged  her  to  come  every 
day  until  we  were  more  settled,  when  we 
should  write  for  Mary,  who  had  promised  to 
follow  us. 

The  porters  when  they  brought  our  lug- 
gage seemed  a  little  surprised  to  leave  it  in  a 
totally  empty  house.  Belinda,  as  she  gave 
them  a  liberal  tip,  asked  them  if  they  had  no- 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  49 

ticed  a  large  Whiteley's  van  on  the  road. 
When  they  repHed  in  the  negative,  her  atten- 
tion had  wandered  and  she  forgot  to  look  sur- 
prised. 

The  greater  part  of  that  morning  we 
spent  in  criticising  the  house  and  apportion- 
ing the  rooms.  The  furniture — that  small 
amount  we  had  bought  as  a  start-ofif  whilst 
we  looked  round  to  choose  more  at  leisure — 
arrived  in  driblets.  The  beds  came  first; 
they  were  all  alike,  with  mattresses  and  bol- 
sters and  one  blanket  each.  When  purchas- 
ing these  it  had  struck  me  forcibly  how  even 
a  little  figure  like  one  when  multiplied  by  six 
has  a  way  of  mounting  up  into  unexpected 
totals. 

The  dining-room  suite  followed.  We 
had  bought  it  at  a  bureau  often  advertised, 
where  people  send  their  superfluous  house- 
hold goods  to  be  sold  for  a  charity.  After 
some  experience  of  the  chairs  we  unanimous- 
ly agreed  that  whatever  cause  the  charity  was 


JO  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

to  benefit,  no  advantage  was  supposed  to  ac- 
crue to  the  purchasers. 

It  was  afternoon  before  the  crockery  ap- 
peared. It  came  at  last,  and  our  spirits  rose 
on  perceiving  what  a  finishing  touch  a  jug 
and  basin  give  to  a  bedroom,  especially  when 
placed  on  the  floor.  The  boys  went  out  with 
a  list  to  buy  provisions  and  insist  upon  coals 
being  delivered  that  evening,  and  we  pro- 
ceeded to  unpack  our  trunks  and  discuss  the 
situation. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  thoughtfulness  the 
girls  had  displayed  in  recollecting  to  bring 
trifles  which  would  not  be  missed  by  Uncle 
Joshua  and  which  were  endeared  to  us  by 
useful  association.  Thus,  Belinda,  after 
much  diving  head-foremost  in  her  dress- 
basket,  fished  up  half  a  dozen  silver  tea- 
spoons swathed  in  an  old  glove  and  inserted 
in  a  shoe. 

"  You  see,  Maria,"  she  said,  apologetic- 
ally, "  it  looks  so  bad  not  to  have  any  silver, 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  51 

and  I  left  Uncle  Joshua  the  other  half-dozen. 
Even  if  he  had  a  tea-party — which  isn't 
likely — he  wouldn't  use  more  than  half  a 
dozen." 

On  going  into  Olivia's  room  I  found  her 
seated  on  the  floor  diligently  polishing  some- 
thing in  her  hand.  By  some  curious  coin- 
cidence it  appeared  that  the  idea  of  tea- 
spoons had  also  occurred  to  her. 

"  I  should  have  brought  seven,  as  one  is 
sure  to  get  lost;  but  I  could  not  find  the 
other  six.  You  recollect,  Maria,  we  only 
had  a  dozen." 

I  explained  how  it  had  come  about  that 
the  seventh  was  missing  and  went  back  to  Be- 
linda, who  on  hearing  how  perversely  things 
had  fallen  out  complained  resentfully  of  Oliv- 
ia's want  of  confidence. 

"  Six  forks  now  would  have  come  in  so 
very  conveniently." 

Compared  with  this  matter  of  the  tea- 
spoons, the  dozen  sheets  and  few  tablecloths 


52  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

I  had  stowed  in  my  box  sank  into  insignifi- 
cance. 

Pamela's  one  idea  had  been  not  to  part 
with  a  certain  old  blue  Delft  jar  to  which  she 
was  much  attached  and  which  now  beamed 
familiarly  upon  us  from  an  uncarpeted  floor. 
To  prevent  its  breaking,  Mary,  who  had 
helped  us  to  pack,  had  filled  it  with  a  few  lit- 
tle odds  and  ends  that  came  handy,  a  small 
carriage-clock,  two  inkstands,  and  a  pen-tray, 
wrapped  up  in  dusters.  When  William's  eye 
fell  on  these  familiar  objects  arranged  to 
much  advantage  on  a  mantel-shelf,  he  ob- 
served that  it  was  rough  on  Joshua,  and  ap- 
plied such  unpleasant  adjectives  to  the  mat- 
ter of  the  tea-spoons  that  Olivia,  conscience- 
stricken,  packed  up  the  half-dozen  she  had 
brought,  and  posted  them  to  Mary  with  strict 
instructions  that  they  all  six  were  to  be  placed 
in  the  most  conspicuous  positions  on  the 
breakfast-table  directly  they  arrived. 

The  next  morning  Belinda  asked  Olivia, 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  53 

who  Still  controlled  the  expenditure,  if  she 
thought  the  purchase  of  an  eider-down  quilt 
could  be  fairly  called  a  superfluous  extrava- 
gance. Olivia,  in  reply,  pointed  out  that  we 
were  in  April,  and  as  the  summer  was  com- 
ing on  she  was  afraid  it  would  come  under 
that  heading;  to  which  Belinda  made  answer 
that — unless  something  unusual  occurred — 
the  summer  would  inevitably  be  followed  by 
the  winter.  This  Olivia  could  not  deny. 
She  was  sitting  meditating  upon  the  question, 
when  Jack  came  down  looking  cross.  He 
did  not  say  "  good-morning,"  but  com- 
menced the  day  by  telling  us  he  hardly  felt  as 
if  he  had  been  to  bed  at  all;  there  was  so  little 
difference  to  his  mind  between  sleeping  under 
his  clothes  and  in  them.  Finally  Belinda 
took  the  law  into  her  own  hands  and  wrote 
to  Mary,  telling  her  to  bring  some  blankets 
from  The  Court  and  join  us  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  If  Uncle  Joshua — so  her  letter  ran — 
happened  to  pass  as  she  was  packing  the 


54  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

blankets,  Mary  might  say  he  could  see  for 
himself  how  necessary  it  was  for  them  to  go 
to  the  cleaners  to  have  the  moth  extermi- 
nated; if,  however,  he  happened  to  be  out  or 
otherwise  engaged,  she  was  not  on  any  ac- 
count to  bother  him  about  them. 

A  day  or  two  afterward  the  blankets  ar- 
rived alone,  with  a  note  pinned  on  the  top- 
most: 

"  My  dear  young  ladies  and  Marster  Wil- 
liam— You  may  be  s'prised  to  see  blankets 
come  without  Mary.  Marster  Uncle  Joshua 
came  into  the  kitchen  as  I  was  cording  the 
box.  I  told  him  as  how  I  were  sending  a  few 
boots  and  things  by  the  young  ladies  direc- 
tion as  Marster  William  had  some  idee  of 
going  suspectin  a  diamond  mine  in  Canady. 
Marster  Joshua  made  no  coment.  He  says 
as  Im  not  to  leave  here  on  no  account.  I  re- 
plide  I  shood  keep  to  my  original  promise  of 
taking  service  with  the  first  of  the  young  la- 


WE  BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  55 

dies  as  got  married.  And  which  will  that  be 
Mary  says  he,  I  said  as  how  it  woodn't  be 
becoming  in  me  to  mention  no  names  but  I 
didn't  suppose  as  how  it  wood  be  Miss  Maria, 
Miss  BHnda,  nor  Miss  Livia.  Marster  Uncle 
Joshua  has  rased  my  wages  and  pays  me  reg- 
lar,  things  is  much  changed  from  what  they 
was,  and  I'm  on  no  account  to  menshun  rise. 
"  Now  dear  young  ladies  hoping  this  will 
find  you  better  than  it  leves  me  having  the 
neuralgic  cruel  from  washing  in  the  open, 
"  I  am  your  obed. 

"  Mary  James. 

"  P.S. — I  have  put  a  cake  for  Miss  Pa- 
mela among  the  blankets." 

We  felt  indignant  with  Mary.  She  had 
been  basely  bought  over  by  "  Marster  Uncle 
Joshua."  Only  Pamela  smiled  dreamily  as 
she  read  the  letter  a  second  time,  and  then 
went  upstairs  to  do  her  hair  in  a  new  fashion. 

William  declared  it  was  as  well  that  Mary 


56  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

hadn't  come,  for  the  neighbourhood  had  a 
reputation  for  propriety  and  might  have  ob- 
jected to  her  "  washing  in  the  open."  Be- 
linda held  that  this  washing  referred  to  the 
cleansing  of  dusters,  tea-cloths,  etc.,  and 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  argument  as  to 
whether  our  late  handmaiden  had  deterio- 
rated. 

"  Not  in  her  cooking  at  any  rate!  "  cried 
Olivia  between  bites  of  a  large  piece  of  the 
cake. 

Belinda  acknowledged  the  arrival  of  the 
blankets  coldly  on  a  postcard: 

"  The  Misses  Chilcott  have  received  blan- 
kets sent  by  their  direction  by  Mary  James." 

That  was  all.  After  the  card  was  posted 
we  recollected  all  the  letters  went  to  The 
Court  in  a  locked  bag,  which  would  of  course 
be  opened  by  Uncle  Joshua.  We  consoled 
ourselves  by  reflecting  that  he  couldn't  say 
much  about  the  matter,  as  that  would  be  ad- 


WE   BECOxME    HOUSEHOLDERS.  57 

mitting  he  had  read  another  person's  post- 
card. 

Olivia's  plan  of  picking  up  furniture  at 
sales  answered  very  well.  There  was  a  large 
sale-room  within  a  stone's-throw  of  Triangle 
Lawn,  and  one  or  other  of  us  patronised  all 
the  auctions  that  took  place  there  at  short 
intervals.  There  was  some  bitterness  as  to 
whose  were  the  greatest  bargains.  On  one 
occasion  William  was  much  pleased  with 
himself  that  on  bidding  for  a  kitchen  table  it 
was  knocked  down  to  him  at  a  few  shillings, 
with  a  knife-grinder  and  a  housemaid's  box 
thrown  in.  Belinda  maintained  that  we  re- 
ally extracted  more  use  from  the  sideboard 
which  had  been  her  bargain,  though  William 
pooh-poohed  the  sideboard  on  the  score  that 
it  had  been  accompanied  by  a  dozen  glass 
globes  which  could  not  by  any  persuasion  be 
made  to  fit  any  burner  in  the  house. 

Jack,  nervous  of  infection,  bought  a  tin 
of  Sanitas  powder  and  well  peppered  the  bar- 


58  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

gains  as  they  were  brought  into  the  house. 
Jinks  took  this  as  personal,  and  sulked  for 
some  days.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  to  a 
dog  of  fine  feelings  but  limited  comprehen- 
sion, between  Keating's  Insect  Powder  and 
Sanitas,  a  mere  disinfectant,  there  may  be  a 
distinction  but  no  obvious  difference. 

When  we  bought  anything  which  on 
more  mature  consideration  did  not  seem 
worth  its  money,  or  refused  to  adjust  itself  to 
the  place  where  it  was  required  to  go,  we 
simply  returned  it  to  the  sale-room,  request- 
ing the  broker  to  put  it  in  the  next  sale  and 
credit  us  with  the  amount  fetched. 

Belinda  grew  quite  friendly  with  the  auc- 
tioneer. She  explained  to  him  that  he  did 
not  give  her  time  to  change  her  mind.  After 
this,  when  she  made  a  bid,  he  paused  before 
bringing  down  the  hammer,  to  see  if  she 
would  retract. 

It  was  kind  of  him,  and  as  she  generally 
did  not  wish  to  retract,  the  plan  answered 


WE   BECOME    HOUSEHOLDERS. 


59 


admirably,  till  one  day  he  paused  too  long, 
and  someone  bid  considerably  higher  than 
Belinda,  who  thus  lost  an  armchair  she  was 
particularly  desirous  of  possessing. 

As  a  result  of  furnishing  chiefly  from 
sales,  we  had  nine  coal-scuttles,  five  knife- 
boards,  and  six  butlers'  trays.  We  did  not 
want  them  exactly — they  just  happened  to 
be  comprised  in  lots  which  contained  some- 
thing we  really  required.  Sales  are  a  cheap 
way  of  getting  a  superfluity  of  one  article. 

At  the  curio  shops  we  were  not  so  fortu- 
nate. The  bric-a-brac  and  old  oak  which  we 
had  heard  were  to  be  had  for  a  mere  song 
were  conspicuous  by  their  absence. 

"  The  song,"  sighed  Belinda,  "  has  evi- 
dently been  sung  before  our  day." 

The  Barlock  came  in  useful  at  this  junc- 
ture. 

Olivia  went   daily  to   the   Free   Library 

with  pencil  and  note-book,  and  copied  any 

advertisements  from  the  papers  which  prom- 
5 


6o  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

ised  employment  and  replied  to  them  on  the 
typewriter,  signing  the  letters  with  the  name 
of  the  one  she  considered  best  fitted  to  fill 
the  needed  requirements. 

One  day  she  came  back  full  of  hope  for 
Jack.  In  the  Daily  News  she  had  met  with 
a  request  for  a  young  gentleman  of  energy 
and  talent  to  develop  an  artistic  undertak- 
ing. The  reply  to  her  letter  was  not  quite 
what  we  expected.  The  artistic  undertak- 
ing that  needed  development  was  a  com- 
pany to  float  a  new  enamel  on  the  market. 
To  prove  how  bond  Ude  was  this  undertak- 
ing, the  Company  sent  a  sample  box  of 
twelve  small  pots  of  enamel  and  a  dozen 
brushes. 

Jack  on  reading  the  paper  sighed  and 
exclaimed,  " Ars  longa  vita  hrevis"  and 
walked  majestically  from  the  room. 

Pamela  requested  William  to  explain  the 
phrase  Jack  had  quoted,  but  William,  whose 
educational   plan  had   not   embraced   Latin, 


WE    BECOME    HOUSEHOLDERS.  6l 

could  only  hazard  that  Art  was  long-suffer- 
ing. 

Olivia  reproved  this  free  translation. 

"  No,  no,  William,"  she  said,  *'  it  means 
*  Art  is  long,  Vice  is  short.'  " 

Pamela  was  still  dissatisfied;  she  followed 
Jack  to  his  painting-room,  and  returned  tri- 
umphant. 

"  It  means,"  she  cried,  "  *  Art  is  long,  but 
not  wide  enough  to  take  in  enamel! '  " 

Then  Olivia  said: 

"I  told  you  so!" 

Belinda,  who  was  never  satisfied,  wished 
the  Company  had  sent  more  of  one  colour, 
as  she  could  then  have  enamelled  each  of 
the  drawing  chairs  the  same  shade. 

After  this,  William  took  to  writing  his 
own  business  letters,  with  the  result  that  he 
obtained  a  clerkship  to  a  member  of  the 
Stock  Exchange,  at  a  salary  of  twenty-five 
shillings  a  week. 

One  morning  the  charwoman  sent  round 


62  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

to  say  she  could  not  come  for  a  few  days, 
owing  to  an  outbreak  of  measles  in  her  fam- 
ily. Olivia,  on  her  way  to  the  Library, 
promised  to  call  in  at  a  registry-office  and 
make  inquiries  after  a  "  general."  I  did  the 
cooking. 

That  evening  Olivia  startled  us  all  by  sud- 
denly declaring  she  was  disappointed  in  Lon- 
don. 

"  It  gives  me  a  vague  yearning,"  she  ex- 
plained pathetically.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  wanted 
something,  but  don't  quite  know  what," 

William  broke  the  awed  silence  which  fol- 
lowed this  outburst: 

"  I've  had  that  feeling  myself,  though  it 
was  in  the  country,  and  if  my  memory  serves 
me,  it  was  on  a  day  when  Maria  had  done  the 
cooking." 

I  felt  glad  that  Jack  had  always  been  my 
favourite  brother,  and  mentioned  the  fact 
aloud. 

Pamela  picked  up  her  guitar  and  began 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  6^ 

to  sing,  under  the  impression  that  it  would 
restore  the  general  harmony  of  the  evening, 
but  Jack  begged  her  to  desist. 

"  Your  voice,  my  dear  girl,  trickles  about 
my  back  and  runs  out  of  the  holes  in  my 
socks." 

"  Brothers    are "    protested    Pamela, 

fretfully. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  William,  "  as  you  say, 
*  brothers  are  '  is  the  plural  to  '  Belinda  is.'  " 

"  I'm  not ,"  began  Pamela,  when  she 

was  interrupted  by  a  loud  knock  on  the  door. 
Olivia  ran  to  open  it. 

"Why,  it's  Mary!  "  she  cried. 

Mary  it  was.  She  had  been  so  exercised 
in  her  feelings  by  Belinda's  postcard,  that 
she  had  deluded  "  Master  Uncle  Joshua " 
into  believing  in  the  sickness  of  an  imaginary 
mother. 

"  Though  I  be  an  orphan,  as  Master  Wil- 
liam knows,"  concluded  Mary. 

This  did  not  infer  that  William  had  any 


64  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

complicity  in  the  death  of  her  parents;  but 
simply  that  he  was  acquainted  with  the  fact 
that  they  were  no  more.  We  explained  to 
Mary  how  the  charwoman  had  left  us  strand- 
ed, whereupon  she  remarked  that,  as  far  as 
she  was  concerned,  the  charwoman  could 
stay  with  the  measles  and  welcome;  for, 
judging  by  the  appearance  of  things  in  gen- 
eral, she  wasn't  much  of  a  muchness. 

Not  a  word  would  Mary  say  concerning 
Uncle  Joshua.  To  all  our  queries  she  an- 
swered that  things  were  much  as  they  were 
excepting  where  they  had  altered,  that  she 
had  been  "  so  homesick  for  Miss  Pamela  " 
she  could  not  stay  away  from  her  any  longer. 

The  box  ottoman,  which  had  been  my 
bargain,  now  came  in  useful  as  an  additional 
bed.  Under  Mary's  hearty  admiration  of 
our  furnishing,  our  spirits,  latterly  a  trifle  de- 
pressed, rose  to  their  usual  high  level.  But 
we  could  not  persuade  her  to  give  a  definite 
opinion  as  to  whether  William  or  Belinda 


WE   BECOME   HOUSEHOLDERS.  65 

had  most  contributed  to  the  utility  of  the 
estabhshment. 

To  William  she  said:  "  Miss  B'linda  was 
always  fond  of  a  little  show,  not  but  what  a 
sideboard  comes  in  'andy  in  a  dining-room." 

And  to  Belinda  she  said:  "  How  should 
a  young  gentleman  of  Master  William's  edu- 
cation be  'spected  to  know  as  a  'ousemaid  as 
is  a  'ousemaid  can  get  along  without  a  box!  " 


CHAPTER    IV. 

CONCERNING   ART   AND    LITERATURE. 

When  Belinda  had  several  sheets  of  fash- 
ion-drawings ready  she  intimated  her  inten- 
tion of  taking  them  round  to  show  the  editors 
of  some  dozen  papers. 

We  wondered  whence  she  gathered  her 
ideas  on  dress,  for  the  inhabitants  of  Brick 
Park  admirably  fulfilled  what  some  have  laid 
down  as  a  test  of  a  well-dressed  woman — that 
on  beholding  her  once,  you  do  not  feel  con- 
strained to  look  again.  I  had  a  notion  that 
the  Smith's  boy  at  the  station  bookstall 
could  have  enlightened  us,  for  Belinda  spent 
many  half-hours  conversing  with  him  whilst 
she  turned  over  the  fashion  numbers  in 
search  of  ideas,  and  occasionally — very  oc- 
casionally— bought  a  copy  of  Woman. 

66 


CONCERNING  ART   AND   LITERATURE,     ^-j 

The  first  week,  in  going  the  round  of 
Fleet  Street  and  its  environs,  Belinda  spent 
ten  shillings  in  'bus  and  train  fares,  and  sold 
one  drawing,  for  which  she  received  five. 
She  wore  her  oldest  garments,  wishing  to 
keep  a  new  cape  she  had  contrived  out  of 
the  pink  shot  inside  of  an  old  mackintosh  for 
more  pleasurable  occasions,  until  one  fine 
June  day,  vanity  overcoming  economy,  she 
sallied  forth  arrayed  in  everything  smart  of 
her  own,  with  the  addition  of  what  she  could 
borrow.  On  returning  from  town,  she  hint- 
ed casually  that  in  future  she  should  always 
wear  her  best  clothes  when  occupied  with 
the  disposal  of  her  sketches.  Even  so  short 
an  experience  had  taught  her  that  in  Lon- 
don if  you  look  dowdy  people  treat  you 
with  respect,  but  evince  little  or  no  interest 
in  your  career;  whereas  a  smart  appearance 
meets  with  a  certain  measure  of  success, 
though,  apparently,  it  also  entails  some 
doubts  as  to  respectability. 


68  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

Having  only  thirty-three  pounds  six  and 
eightpence  annually  she  could  call  her  own, 
and  a  promised  share  in  William's  future 
prosperity,  was  it  not  absolutely  necessary  to 
look  over  the  fact  that  editors,  and  especially 
sub-editors,  fancied  she  called  on  them  less 
to  dispose  of  her  wares  than  to  have  a  little 
genial  conversation?  After  some  few  re- 
buffs, notwithstanding  that  she  invariably 
represented  each  office  she  entered  as  being 
the  one  that  edited  the  only  paper  for  which 
she  would  care  to  work — the  only  paper,  in 
fact,  that  was  all  a  paper  should  be — she  fell 
in  with  a  new  organ,  whose  editor  engaged 
her  to  illustrate  the  column  devoted  to  the 
latest  style  in  underclothing,  which  he  deli- 
cately termed  lingerie. 

It  had  not  been  exactly  Belinda's  ambi- 
tion to  sit  up  to  late  hours  of  the  night  re- 
producing the  newest  things  in  camisoles,  but 
she  was  always  one  of  those  who  find  it  easier 
to  cut  according  to  their  cloth  than  try  to 


CONCERNING  ART   AND   LITERATURE.     69 

obtain  a  wider  material.  Her  method  of 
procedure  was  to  go,  by  editorial  direction, 
to  certain  fashionable  shops  and  sketch  their 
novelties.  From  that  date  Belinda  never  had 
to  buy  any  gloves,  stockings,  or  fans.  Pa- 
mela openly  wished  she  had  taken  up  fashion- 
drawing;  but  Jack  was  heard  to  murmur 
something  about  bribery  and  corruption,  un- 
heeding our  assurance  that  other  arts  beside 
the  culinary  one  had  their  "  perquisites." 

Jack's  ideas  did  not  adapt  themselves  so 
readily  to  circumstances  as  Belinda's.  For 
some  weeks  he  wore  out  boot-leather  and  his 
temper  in  equal  proportions  carrying  round 
sketches  of  ancient  cathedrals  and  ruined 
castles,  when  one  day  by  mistake  he  included 
in  his  portfolio  a  little  pen-and-ink  drawing 
he  had  made  from  life,  on  an  evening  when 
Mary  had  come  up  suddenly  to  the  painting- 
room  where  we  were  sitting  to  say  a  "  gentle- 
man had  called  to  see  Miss  Belinda."  The 
sketch  represented  Belinda  grasping  a  pair 


70  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

of  black  satin  cycling  knickerbockers,  of  the 
latest  mode,  and  expostulating  with  the 
"  gentleman,"  who  had  come  down  from  a 
fashionable  ladies'  tailor  to  say  that  the  sup- 
ply could  not  keep  pace  with  the  demand, 
and  that  the  pair  carried  off  by  Miss  Chilcott 
for  sketching  purposes  were  urgently  needed, 
so  greatly  had  they  taken  the  popular  taste. 

An  editor  chanced  upon  this  drawing  and 
was  much  struck  with  its  humorous  simplici- 
ty; he  had  a  joke  pigeon-holed  which  would 
suit  it  exactly,  it  was  topical  and  had  that 
slight  suspicion  of  vulgarity  without  which 
the  wit  of  the  day  is  unpalatable  to  the  mul- 
titude and  only  fit  for  Punch.  Would  Jack 
send  him  similar  sketches?  If  so,  there 
should  be  a  corner  kept  every  week  for  his 
work,  or  as  often  as  he  could  send  it. 

Belinda  urged  Jack  to  take  this  opening. 

"  Beggars,  deaf  boy,"  she  said,  "  must 
never  be  choosers.  I  have  watched  the  evo- 
lution of  that  paper  with  interest — it  began, 


CONCERNING  ART  AND  LITERATURE.     71 

you  remember,  with  the  gaiters  of  the 
Church,  it  is  now  chiefly  devoted  to  the  legs 
of  the  ballet." 

William  added  his  shred  of  information. 
He  had  heard  that  the  shares — for  the  paper 
was  run  by  a  company — had  gone  up  from 
two  and  a  half  to  five.  Regarding  legs  from 
a  financial  point  of  view,  he  had  found  it  in- 
teresting to  note  what  a  difference  mere  gen- 
der made  in  their  value  as  an  investment. 
Jack's  dislike  to  using  his  pencil  in  the  cause 
of  popular  vulgarity  being  thus  overruled,  he 
began  to  get  on  better.  His  editor  was 
somewhat  erratic  in  the  matter  of  payments: 
when  self-respect  at  intervals  demanded  dis- 
continuance of  contributions  until  a  cheque 
arrived,  Jack  turned  the  time  thus  gained  to 
account  by  studying  Posters,  which  drew 
from  William  the  observation  that  Art  re- 
minded him  of  a  certain  place  of  entertain- 
ment much  advertised  under  the  heading — 

"  All  roads  lead  to  Earl's  Court." 


72  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Belinda  that,  just 
as  she  was  entering  into  the  spirit  of  her 
work,  the  puppies  should  all  fall  ill  of  the 
mange.  Her  editor  wrote  reproachfully  to 
say  her  drawings  had  not  arrived  that  week 
until  after  the  paper  had  gone  to  press.  In 
return  she  confided  with  a  pretty  apology  the 
distressing  sickness  of  her  canine  friends,  but 
when  the  same  tardiness  occurred  the  follow- 
ing week  the  editor  wrote  again  more  per- 
emptorily. He  was  sorry  the  puppies  had 
the  mange;  but  fashions  changed  so  rapidly 
that  if  the  page  devoted  to  lingerie  was  a  week 
behind,  it  gave  the  whole  paper  the  air  of  be- 
ing a  back  number.  He  inferred  facetiously 
that  as  long  as  Miss  Chilcott's  drawings  were 
up  to  time,  the  puppies  might  go  to  the  dogs. 

Belinda  tore  up  this  letter,  much  to  the 
chagrin  of  Olivia,  who  suspected  an  auto- 
graph in  every  communication. 

Only  one  of  the  puppies  died.  Its  mis- 
tress wished  to  have  it  buried  in  the  garden, 


CONCERNING  ART  AND   LITERATURE.     73 

but  on  this  point  I  was  firm.  Had  it  only 
been  a  flower  garden  I  should  not  have  mind- 
ed; but  tomatoes,  onions,  and  the  where- 
withal to  make  salad  grew  beneath  the  shade 
of  hollyhocks  and  nasturtiums.  We  referred 
the  matter  in  dispute  to  William  the  night 
the  puppy  died.  He  decided  that  a  sixth 
portion  of  the  garden  was  rightly  under  the 
tenancy  of  Belinda;  if  she  chose  to  use  it  as  a 
cemetery,  she  of  course  could.  For  his  own 
part,  he  had  been  vexed  when  the  landlord 
mentioned  that  our  predecessor  in  the  house 
had  been  very  partial  to  animals  and  also  un- 
fortunate in  losing  several. 

"  To  the  loss  of  his  live  stock,"  comment- 
ed William  in  conclusion,  "  I  attribute  wholly 
and  solely  the  fact  that  the  vegetable-marrow 
I  planted  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  garden 
shows  unmistakable  signs  of  growing  into 
the  dining-room." 

Before  this  discussion  we  had  freely  in- 
dulged a  forgivable  weakness  for  marrows, 


74  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

but  after  it  they  would  have  gone  to  seed  had 
not  Mary  devised  a  plan  for  exchanging  them 
for  potatoes  with  the  owner  of  a  vegetable 
cart  when  he  called  for  orders. 

Olivia's  good  memory  put  an  end  to  the 
perplexity  concerning  the  puppy's  burial- 
place.  She  recalled  having  read  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  spot  in  London  where  dogs  may  be 
decently  buried  and  their  bones  let  lie  in 
peace,  and  succeeded  in  getting  the  maga- 
zine in  which  the  article  had  appeared,  for  us 
to  read  further  particulars.  The  dogs'  ceme- 
tery turned  out  to  be,  of  all  places  in  the 
world,  in  Hyde  Park,  a  lodge-keeper's  garden 
being  appropriated  for  this  humane  purpose. 
Belinda  herself  went  to  choose  the  exact  site 
of  the  grave,  and  ascertained  that  the  funeral 
could  take  place  on  the  morrow.  We  spent 
the  evening  in  considering  a  suitable  epitaph 
to  be  engraved  on  the  puppy's  tombstone. 
William  was  anxious  to  know  how  we  intend- 
ed to  get  the  body  to  the  cemetery — were  we 


CONCERNING  ART   AND   LITERATURE. 


75 


going  to  send  it  by  Carter  Paterson  &  Co., 
or  how?  He  hoped  he  was  not  officious  in 
reminding  us  that  the  Post-Office  regulations 
relating  to  dead  cats  applied  equally  to  dead 
dogs. 

Given  time  for  consideration,  it  was  al- 
ways possible  to  forecast  what  William  would 
say  on  any  subject;  but  though  his  remarks 
were  obvious  to  a  degree,  indeed  he  was  a 
sympathetic  and  unselfish  lad.  That  even- 
ing he  stayed  up  late  to  construct  a  coffin  out 
of  a  Sunlight  soap-box,  in  which  he  laid  the 
puppy,  nailing  it  down  and  covering  it  with  a 
bit  of  green  baize,  and  addressing  it  neatly 
to  Belinda.  Pamela  grieved  that  no  flowers 
had  been  placed  on  the  poor  little  puppy,  and 
would  have  opened  the  coffin  to  repair  this 
omission  had  we  allowed  her. 

At  ten  in  the  morning  we  started  for  the 

funeral,  Mary  coming  as  far  as  the  station, 

and  handing  the  baize-covered  box  into  the 

carriage  in  respectful  silence.     The  coffin  be- 
6 


76  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

ing  rather  heavy  as  well  as  noticeable,  on 
alighting  at  the  Queen's  Road  station,  Be- 
linda as  chief  mourner  stepped  into  a  han- 
som. Olivia,  Pamela,  and  I  followed  in  an 
omnibus.  At  Victoria  Gate  we  got  out,  to 
find  Belinda  standing  on  the  kerb  beside  the 
remains,  looking  rather  flustered.  It  ap- 
peared the  hansom  driver  had  been  annoyed 
on  discovering  her  destination,  and  had  said, 
in  tones  more  loud  than  polite,  had  he 
guessed  she  was  making  a  "  bloomin'  'earse 
of  'is  keb,"  he  would  have  refused  to  drive 
her. 

"  And  I  gave  him  an  extra  sixpence,  too, 
in  case  it  was  illegal  to  drive  a  dead  dog," 
concluded  his  fare  wrathfully. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over  and  the 
puppy  laid  to  sleep  among  the  never-ceasing 
rumble  of  London  traffic,  far,  far  from  the 
country  home  where  his  short  days  had  been 
mostly  spent,  we  called  at  a  monumental 
mason  to  order  the  tombstone.     Whilst  Be- 


CONCERNING  ART  AND   LITERATURE,    j-j 

linda  discussed  details  of  stone  and  shape 
with  the  mason,  OHvia  somewhat  spitefully 
drew  our  attention  to  the  fact  that  Belinda 
could  not  forget  herself  even  on  a  tomb- 
stone: -V 

"  She's  getting  in  her  own  name  on  it  as 
well  as  the  puppy's." 

When  we  got  back,  Mary  informed  us 
laconically  that  "  The  Church  had  called " 
during  our  absence.  A  card,  inscribed  "  The 
Rev.  Theophilus  Kittiwake,  The  Vicarage, 
Brick  Park,  S.W.,"  lay  on  the  hall  table,  also 
bearing  testimony  to  our  first  visitor. 

"  I  told  the  gentleman,"  continued  Mary, 
"  that  you  young  ladies  wasn't  in,  that  you 
had  gone  to  a  funeral;  and  'twasn't  no  use 
my  going  upstairs  to  tell  Master  Jack,  as  he'd 
be  sure  to  say  as  he  wasn't  at  home." 

We  regretted  having  been  out.  Olivia 
was  able  to  describe  Mr.  Kittiwake  in  appear- 
ance, as  she  had  noticed  him  going  to  and 
fro  in  the  parish. 


78  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  He  is  tall  and  dark,  with  brown  curly 
hair,  rather  handsome,  but  walks  badly." 

I  looked  at  the  card  several  times.  Kitti- 
wake  was  not  a  name  one  would  choose  to 
carry  one  through  life;  still,  I  did  not  entire- 
ly agree  with  the  others,  who  declared  it  re- 
minded them  of  a  missing  word  competition. 

About  this  time  Pamela,  having  met  with 
no  success  in  her  endeavours  to  teach  draw- 
ing only  in  a  private  family,  decided  to  go 
on»the  Stage. 

She  ordered  the  Era  to  come  in  with  the 
Church  Times.  It  was  the  latter  paper  which 
influenced  Olivia's  career.  One  w^eek,  sand- 
wiched in  between  the  details  of  twelve  sur- 
plices to  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  a  new  or- 
gan fund,  and  the  ofYer  of  a  "  w^arm,  com- 
fortable home,  at  reduced  terms "  to  any 
elderly  gentleman  whose  accomplishments 
included  carving,  she  saw  an  advertisement 
which  promised  to  fling  open  the  gates  of 
Bohemia. 


CONCERNING  ART  AND   LITERATURE.     79 

It  emanated  from  an  author  who  requirecL 
a  young  laciy  secretary  about  twenty-two, 
.knowledge  of  typing  essential,  her  own  type- 
writer a  recommendation.  She  must  be  of 
good  appearance,  and  able  to  correct  proofs 
carefully.  Intending  applicants  were  re- 
quested in  the  first  instance  to  write  to  ad- 
dress given,  when  a  personal  interview  might 
be  arranged.  The  fact  that  the  author  had 
inserted  the  word  "  married "  in  brackets 
after  stating  his  profession,  coupled  with  the 
announcement  appearing  in  the  Church 
Times,  made  us  doubt  his  atmosphere  being 
as  purely  Bohemian  as  one  could  have 
wished.  ' 

Olivia,  replying  to  this  advertisement,  en- 
larged upon  the  fact  that  her  typewriter  was 
her  own. 

"  I  need  not  say  I  got  it  second-hand," 
she  exclaimed,  as  with  shining  eyes  she  sat 
nibbling  her  pen  trying  to  recall  points  in  her 
own  favpur.     "Neither  shall  I  mention  my 


8o  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

exact  age.  If  I  put  I  shall  be  twenty  soon, 
that  will  look  better  than  saying  I'm  only 
eighteen." 

With  regard  to  her  personal  appearance, 
she  modestly  left  the  author  to  judge  for  him- 
self from  the  photograph  she  enclosed,  only 
remarking  she  had  altered  considerably — 
a  necessary  statement,  seeing  that  the  photo 
was  not  her  own,  which  she  had  mislaid,  but 
Pamela's. 

The  author  answered  by  return  of  post, 
appointing  a  personal  interview  at  his  house, 
but  a  few  miles  distant.  When  Pamela, 
looking  over  her  sister's  shoulder,  saw  that 
the  letter  was  not  signed  "  Walter  Besant " 
her  interest  died  down  suddenly. 

The  author  had  thoughtfully  sent  a  print- 
ed slip  containing  the  names  and  publishers 
of  his  books,  to  help  in  identifying  him. 
This  enabled  Olivia  to  obtain  one  or  two 
and  read  them;  she  also  looked  him  up  in 
Who's  Who,  which  shed  a  light  on  his  Univer- 


CONCERNING  ART   AND   LITERATURE.     8l 

sity  and  literary  career.  She  deduced — 
chiefly  from  the  titles  of  his  works — that  he 
was  a  poet  as  well  as  a  prose  writer,  and  her 
interest  redoubled,  and  we  spoke  of  him  from 
that  day,  when  we  spent  a  whole  afternoon 
admiring  his  signature- — a  particularly  bold 
one — as  "  The  Poet." 

When  later  on  in  the  week  Olivia  re- 
turned from  the  personal  interview,  we  were 
intensely  interested  to  hear  what  had  passed. 
The  Poet,  we  learnt,  was  not  of  the  Byronic 
type;  he  had  a  genial,  even  cheerful  manner, 
and  was  handsome  in  an  erect,  white-mous- 
tachioed, soldierly  way.  Altogether  he  ap- 
peared to  be  one  of  the  exceeding  few  who 
see  their  own  surroundings  through  rose-col- 
oured glasses. 

"  I'm  not  quite  clear,"  continued  Olivia, 
"what  the  secretary's  duties  are;  but  they 
seem  to  include  generally  enjoying  Bohemia. 
He  showed  much  sympathy  on  hearing  I 
contributed  to  the  Animal  World,  though  it 


82  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

is  not  a  paper  he  has  himself  worked  for.  I 
was  just  going  to  ask  him  upon  what  book 
he  is  now  engaged,  when  the  tea  came  in  and 
he  pressed  me  to  take  some  bread  and  butter. 
I  only  blushed  five  times — not  bad,  was  it?  " 

Five  blushes  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was 
moderate  for  Olivia. 

The  Poet  had  had  about  two  hundred  ap- 
plications, but  promised  to  think  over  Olivia 
and  let  her  know  the  result. 

The  result  was  a  summons  to  take  up  her 
residence  in  Bohemia,  and  not  on  any  ac- 
count to  forget  the  typewriter. 

"  He  seems  to  think  it's  of  as  much  im- 
portance as  I  am!  "  cried  the  owner  of  the 
machine,  vexedly. 

With  Belinda's  help  she  made  some  pretty 
additions  to  her  wardrobe  and  bought  her- 
self a  pair  of  spectacles — not  that  she  required 
them,  but  considered  them  essential  to  a  liter- 
ary appearance — and  thus  equipped  set  sail 
for  that  happy  land,  Bohemia. 


CHAPTER    V. 

CONCERNING   A   FIRST   ACQUAINTANCE. 

Some  time  after  the  events  to  be  here  re- 
lated, I  explained  to  the  Rev.  Theophilus  Kit- 
tiwake  that  if  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  paro- 
chial call  he  went  away  under  the  impression 
that  William  was  a  member  of  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, that  Jack  was  painting  a  picture  for 
next  year's  Academy,  and  Olivia  away  on  a 
visit  of  pleasure,  it  was  not  due  to  my  share 
in  the  conversation. 

And  the  Vicar,  with  that  wide  charity  for 
which  he  was  remarkable,  said:  "  Belinda  is 
just  a  trifle  inaccurate." 

The  grin  which  accompanied  these  words 

was  nearly  as  wide  as  the  charity. 

We  had  just  come  in  from  seeing  Olivia 

83 


84  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

off  by  train  to  Bohemia.  The  reaHsation  of 
her  dreams  took  off  the  keen  edge  of  parting, 
and  if  there  was  a  tear  in  her  eye  it  arose  more 
from  having  attracted  a  wandering  particle 
of  coal-dust,  than  sorrowing  affection.  But 
we  were  commenting  a  trifle  dolefully  on  the 
first  break  in  our  circle,  when  the  Vicar  was 
shown  in.  I  observed  a  tall  man,  with  brown 
crinkly  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  a  sympathetic 
manner.  Belinda  noticed  that  he  wore  his 
nose  a  trifle  to  one  side  and  used  his  soft  hat 
to  punctuate  his  conversation. 

"  I  was  unfortunate  in  finding  you  out  on 
my  first  call.  Your  servant  said  you  had 
gone  to  a  funeral.  I  hope  "  (here  his  eye 
roved  from  my  pink  blouse  to  the  blue  ribbon 
of  Belinda's  hat)  "  that  as  you  are  not  in 
mourning  you  have  not  lost  any  near  rela- 
tive? " 

"  No — no  relation — a  friend  only,"  mur- 
mured Belinda,  absently.  "  Died  of  the 
mange." 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST   ACQUAINTANCE,  gj 

"  Well,  hardly  a  friend,"  I  hastened  to 
explain;  "  that  is — a  puppy;  we  buried  him 
in  Hyde  Park." 

"  The  dog  is  the  friend  of  man,"  respond- 
ed the  Vicar  genially. 

After  he  had  gone,  Belinda  said  his  con- 
versation reminded  her  of  last  year's  fash- 
ions. 

Belinda  poured  out  tea,  and  beamed  be- 
hind the  tea-cosy.  She  had  a  way  of  smiling 
at  the  end  of  her  sentences  that  made  stran- 
gers feel  as  if  she  had  confided  something  to 
them  of  first-class  importance. 

"  Maria  and  I,"  she  observed,  passing  him 
a  cup  with  the  grace  of  a  complete  under- 
standing, "  never  take  milk  or  sugar  in  our 
tea." 

Then  she  smiled,  and  Mr.  Kittiwake  said 
"  Indeed!  "  and  felt  as  if  he  had  known  her 
for  years,  perhaps  christened  her. 

Aware  that  my  sister  never  did  anything 
without  a  motive,  I  meekly  accepted  my  tea 


86  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

brown  and  bitter,  though  I  liked  sugar  and 
cream  better  than  most  people.  Presently 
the  motive  became  apparent,  when  the  Vicar 
refusing  a  second  cup,  Belinda  poured  what 
remained  of  the  cream — there  had  only  been 
a  few  spoonfuls,  the  milkman  having  unac- 
countably forgotten  us — and  added  liberally 
of  sugar.  Though  so  good  at  adapting  her- 
self to  circumstances,  Belinda  invariably  for- 
got to  carry  them  through  consistently. 

A  little  general  and  parochial  discussion 
followed,  and  then  the  Vicar  mentioned  there 
was  a  pew  in  his  church  vacant;  if  we  liked 
to  secure  it,  its  rent  was  two  guineas.  It  was 
the  only  one  likely  to  be  available  for  some 
time;  he  regretted  it  was  situated  somewhat 
low  down  in  the  church,  in  a  draughty  posi- 
tion. Belinda  intimated  that  she  took  cold 
easily,  and  the  matter  ended  by  our  accepting 
the  loan  of  the  Vicarage  pew — gratis — until 
one  out  of  the  way  of  draughts  became 
vacant.     William,  when  we  notified  this  ar- 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE.   8/ 

rangement,  found  fault  with  the  usual  selfish- 
ness of  women. 

"  How,"  he  demanded,  "  am  I,  right 
under  the  pulpit,  to  get  the  forty  winks  to 
which  I  am  accustomed  during  the  sermon?  " 

"  Your  doze,  William,"  repHed  I,  "  when 
weighed  in  the  balance  against  two  pounds 
pew-rent,  proves  you  a  very  light  sleeper." 

Having  settled  about  the  pew,  the  Vicar 
went  on  to  tell  us  there  was  to  be  a  tea  given 
in  the  Parish  school-room,  a  sort  of  anniver- 
sary'ceremony  to  celebrate  his  having  been 
a  year  in  the  parish.  He  hoped  we  should 
find  time  to  come  to  it.  The  churchwardens 
had  insisted  upon  his  taking  the  opportunity 
thus  afforded  for  mentioning  a  certain  defi- 
ciency in  the  offertory  for  Church  expenses. 

"  Would  you  advise  me,"  he  asked,  look- 
ing much  perplexed,  "  to  mention  this  before 
the  tea  or  after?  " 

I  suggested  after.  "  It  would  be  a  pity 
to  spoil  people's  appetites." 


88  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

Belinda  considered  parish  appetites  not 
easily  daunted,  and  that  to  mention  it  after- 
ward might  give  them  indigestion. 

"  I  much  prefer  making  these  announce- 
ments from  the  pulpit,"  sighed  the  Vicar. 

"  Where  there's  no  likelihood  of  your 
being  contradicted,"  we  agreed  sympathetic- 
ally. 

Then  the  talk  turned  upon  a  "  Jumble  " 
Sale  to  take  place  on  the  following  Thursday. 
Belinda  was  much  interested  in  hearing  how 
it  was  managed,  and  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  send  a  few  contributions. 

"  Things  do  accumulate  so — don't  they?  " 
she  remarked,  forgetting  we  had  only  been 
in  the  house  a  month  or  so. 

"  For  a  first  call,"  said  I,  looking  at  the 
clock,  "  an  hour  and  a  half  is  not  a  bad  allow- 
ance." 

Belinda  stood  near  the  window  watching 
the  Vicar  stride  across  the  green  to  the  Vic- 
arage. 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE.  89 

"  He's  weak  about  the  knees,  that's  what 
makes  him  walk  so  badly.  I  noticed  that 
though  he  talked  most  to  me,  he  looked  a 
good  deal  at  you,  Maria." 

We  consulted  Mary  as  to  what  we  could 
spare  for  the  "  Jumble "  Sale.  She  hinted 
that  the  gas  globes  which  had  accompanied 
the  sideboard  were  not  needed. 

"  And  a  different  butler's  tray  for  every 
day  of  the  week  being  what  Miss  'Livia  calls 
an  extravagant  possibility,  you  might  send  at 
least  three  of  them.  Miss  Maria." 

So  without  giving  away  anything  we 
should  have  missed,  we  had  more  space  and 
convenience  in  the  house  after  our  donations 
for  the  good  of  the  parish.  The  Vicar  told 
me  afterward — when  there  was  no  longer  any 
need  to  live  up  to  strained  notions  of  polite- 
ness— that  he  concluded  we  had  bought  up 
an  entire  "  Jumble  "  Sale  from  somewhere  to 
furnish  with. 

My  artistic  tendencies,  which  had  hitherto 


go  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

found  outlet  in  useful  but  plain  sewing,  sud- 
denly developed  in  the  direction  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal embroidery,  Belinda,  not  to  be  outdone 
in  her  esteem  for  the  Vicar,  presented  hin\ 
with  two  of  the  puppies  and  offered  the  third 
to  be  raffled  at  a  forthcoming  bazaar.  In- 
deed, I  sometimes  considered  that  she  took 
too  warm  an  interest  in  church  matters.  One 
evening,  for  instance,  when  brushing  her  hair, 
always  a  credit  to  the  amount  of  attention 
she  paid  it,  she  confided  how  she  had — 
anonymously — sent  a  P.O,  for  half-a-crown 
toward  the  deficiency  in  the  offertory  for 
church  expenses.  This  deficiency,  though  it 
fluctuated  in  amount,  was  chronic  in  sub- 
stance. That  week  it  must  have  reached  its 
high-water  mark,  for  the  day  before,  after 
evening  service,  I  had  slipped  a  florin  into 
the  box  dedicated  to  contributions  just  inside 
the  church  door.  It  was  not  necessary  to 
tell  Belinda  this,  indeed  I  reproved  her  se- 
verely. 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE.  91 

"  Charity  should  begin  at  home — even  in 
these  days  of  cheap  travelling." 

Belinda,  combing  her  hair  over  her  face 
and  peering  through  it  until  Jinks,  allowed 
to  watch  the  operation,  mistook  her  for  his 
first  cousin,  retorted  that  she  had  not  under- 
stood the  violet  stole  I  was  working  was  for 
home  decoration. 

"  I  suppose,  Maria,  you  intend  it  for  a 
mantle-border." 

There  was  no  reasoning  with  Belinda. 

As  the  summer  grew  on.  Uncle  Joshua 
conceived  the  useful  idea  of  sending  us  a 
weekly  hamper.  It  was  kind  of  him.  Some- 
times we  wrote  and  told  him  so,  sometimes 
we  forgot  even  to  acknowledge  it.  Once  I 
remember  we  had  reason  to  point  out  that  it 
might  have  been  better  packed. 

"  We  have  not  " — so  ran  our  letter — 
"  yet  been  able  to  determine  whether  the 
contents  of  last  week's  hamper  were  fruit 


g2  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

or  jam,  it  came  in  so  mashed  a  condi- 
tion." 

Uncle  wrote  apologetically  in  reply,  say- 

■  ing  he  had  packed  it  himself,  the  gardener 

being   busy.     We  interrogated    Mary   as   to 

whether  a  gardener  had  been  installed  at  The 

Court  before  her  departure. 

She  said:  "  I  believe,  Miss,  as  there  was 
a  person  as  called  himself  such,  but  I  didn't 
take  no  great  heed  to  him." 

Uncle's  ideas  on  hampers,  though  mainly 
composed  of  fruit  and  vegetables,  included 
filling  the  corners  up  with  packets  of  tea, 
sugar,  and  cofifee,  and  at  the  bottom  more 
often  than  not  we  discovered  a  ham  of  ex- 
cellent flavour.  Once  only  he  mentioned 
Mary;  as  some  weeks  had  elapsed  since  her 
departure  to  nurse  her  mother,  he  supposed 
there  were  some  wages  due  to  her:  she  had 
left  intending  to  return.  He  enclosed  the 
cheque,  trusting  that  we  knew  her  address 
and  would  forward  it.     The  cheque  was  for 


CONCERNING  A   FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE.  93 

five  pounds,  which  put  Mary's  wages  at  about 
twenty-five  pounds  a  year.  We  asked  her  if 
she  honestly  considered  herself  worth  that 
sum,  and  agreed  to  abide  by  her  deci- 
sion. After  meditating  silently  upon  her 
own  value,  she  suggested  that  as  "  Master 
William "  got  up  early  to  clean  the  win- 
dows, and  laid  the  supper  on  "  her  night 
out,"  the  sum  should  be  divided  between 
them. 

When  we  handed  the  half  to  William  he 
remarked  that  it  was  the  very  first  time  in  his 
life  he  had  not  found  virtue  to  be  its  own — 
and  only — reward,  and  modestly  questioned 
whether  he  had  a  right  to  spend  it  entirely  as 
he  desired.  We  assured  him  he  had,  and  he 
went  out  there  and  then  and  purchased  a 
lawn  mower,  explaining  in  extenuation  of  his 
purchase  that — 

"  You  would  hardly  believe  the  time  it 
takes  getting  round  the  lawn,  small  as  it  is, 
with  only  Maria's  scissors." 


94  BELIMDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Jack  did  not  approve  of  Pamela's  plan  of 
going  on  the  Stage.  He  would  put  his  foot 
down  on  it. 

"  Seeing  that  you  take  a  nine,"  said  Be- 
linda, "  your  method,  Jack,  should  be  effect- 
ive." 

Pamela  did  not  care  what  Jack  thought. 
William  was  her  favourite  brother:  every 
night,  when  not  too  sleepy,  did  he  not  read 
out  Romeo,  while  she  repeated  Juliet  from 
memory?  I  had  wondered  somewhat  at 
William's  quiet  acceptance  of  Pamela's  idea 
of  going  on  the  Stage,  knowing  that  broth- 
ers' admiration  of  actresses  does  not  as  a  rule 
extend  to  histrionic  talent  in  their  own  fami- 
lies. He  explained  his  attitude  when  Pamela 
was  absent  from  the  room, 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  cools  one's  ardour 
for  an  undertaking  like  encouragement:  why, 
I  should  have  taken  more  prizes  at  school 
if  the  masters  had  had  the  sense  to  oppose 
me. 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST   ACQUAINTANCE.  95 

Then  he  went  on  diffidently  to  tell  us 
how  he  had  latterly  met  a  few  actresses  purely 
in  the  course  of  business.  At  that  moment 
Pamela  entered  the  room  and  inquired  anx- 
iously how  actresses  looked,  ofT  the  Stage. 

"  Not  as  well  as  they  look  on,"  replied 
William.  "  You  see,  Pamela,  their  complex- 
ions, however  good  to  start  with,  get  so  to- 
tally ruined  by  the  paint  and  powder  they 
have  to  use,  you  know." 

Pamela  grew  pensive,  and  William  con- 
tinued smiling  at  his  own  diplomacy,  until 
Jack  ruffled  him  by  remarking  that  the  ac- 
tresses he  was  acquainted  with — if  he  did 
know  "any — might  perhaps  exchange  their 
stockings;  but  he.  Jack,  doubted  them  hav- 
ing much  to  do  on  the  Stock  Exchange. 
The  humour  of  this  observation  not  striking 
William,  he  replied  rudely,  and  a  short  quar- 
rel ensued.  Belinda  and  I  listened  attentive- 
ly. If  it  had  not  been  for  the  boys  now  and 
again  falling  out,  there  were  lots  of  little  mat- 


96 


BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 


ters  we  should  never  have  known  anything 
about. 

Olivia  came  to  see  us  the  following  Sun- 
day afternoon.  She  arrived  about  three 
o'clock,  looking  a  little  dejected,  as  one 
might  whose  lot  was  made  up  of  peculiarly 
trying  circumstances. 

"  Bohemia,"  remarked  Belinda  interrog- 
atively,   "  does    not    seem    to    agree    with 


you 


Olivia  burst  into  tears. 

Jack,  whose  experience  of  hysterics  and 
their  treatment  was  derived  entirely  from 
novels,  ran  for  some  water.  He  took  what 
came  first.  That  it  happened  to  be  his  tum- 
bler of  painting  water  did  not  warrant  un- 
charitable judgment.  A  long  acquaintance 
with  Jack  taught  us  always  to  put  in  his 
motives  as  backgrounds  to  results,  often 
curious. 

Olivia  drank  a  little,  and  refrained  from 
mentioning  the  flavour  of  indigo. 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE,  97 

"  It's  all  SO  different,"  she  sobbed,  "  from 
what  I  expected." 

"  By-the-by,  what  did  you  expect?  "  in- 
quired Belinda,  who  had  found  the  day  long, 
and  thought  we  might  begin  at  the  begin- 
ning. 

Olivia  didn't  know. 

"  Then,"  rejoined  William,  "  how  can  you 
be  disappointed?  " 

"  Silly!  "  exclaimed  Pamela,  presumably 
addressing  the  last  speaker.  "  If  she  knew 
what  to  expect  how  could  she  be  disap- 
pointed? " 

Olivia  mopped  her  eyes  and  continued 
vaguely: 

"It's  all  so — so — too " 

"  Clean?  "  hazarded  Belinda. 

"  The  Poet's  not  a  poet  at  all,"  sobbed  the 
disappointed  one.  "  He  writes  for  the  news- 
papers— commonplace,  everyday  newspapers 
— and  the  work  he's  engaged  upon  is  a  Blue 
Book." 


q8  BELINDA— and   SOME  OTHERS. 

"  Well,  if  Art  is  long,"  observed  William, 
"  Literature  seems  to  be  broad  in  propor- 
tion." 

"  His  wife  is  not  a  bit  artistic,"  wept  Oliv- 
ia; "  she  gets  her  gowns  straight  from  Paris, 
and  goes  calling  on  a  bicycle." 

Belinda  looked  interested. 

"  There  may  be  compensations,"  she  re- 
marked, soothingly. 

But  Olivia  didn't  think  so. 

"  He  has  such  peculiar  ideas,  he  takes  a 
great  interest  in  foreign  politics,  and  says 
Dickens  is  overrMed.  Then,  he  keeps  a 
notebook  m  his  pocket,  and  puts  down  every 
silly  thing  that's  said  at  table." 

"  Why,  you  must  be  afraid  to  speak!  " 
cried  Jack. 

This  speech,  as  we  afterward  pointed  out 
to  him,  was  not  calculated  to  soothe  his  sis- 
ter's feelings.  She  began  to  cry  again,  and 
Pamela  wept  for  company. 

Altogether  it  was  a  damp  afternoon. 


CONCERNING  A   FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE.  99 

"  Oh,  don't  go  on  the  Stage,  Pamela  dar- 
ling! "  exclaimed  Olivia  bitterly.  "  It  won't 
be  a  bit  like  what  you  think  it!  " 

There  was  perhaps  more  truth  in  this 
statement  than  the  speaker  was  aware  of. 

The  only  point  on  which  the  Poet  seemed 
an  orthodox  Bohemian  was  his  objection 
to  being  spring-cleaned.  This  operation  had 
lately  happened  and  left  him  irritable. 

"  Why,  I  knew  there  was  something  we 
had  forgotten,"  cried  I ;  "of  course,  we  never 
had  a  .spring-cleaning." 

"  Regarding  life  from  a  Bohemian  point 
of  view,"  said  William,  "  it  seems  to  me 
there's  no  place  like  home." 

Under  the  influence  of  a  cup  of  tea  and 
some  strawberries  from  Uncle's  last  ham- 
per, Olivia  admitted  there  were  compensa- 
tions. 

"  When  I  can't  make  out  my  own  writing, 
which  as  you  know  sometimes  happens,  he 
(the  Poet)  doesn't  mind  me  asking  him  if  he 


100  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

knows  what  he  meant,  and  he  says  I  may  use 
his  stamps." 

"There,  Jack!"  cried  BeHnda,  "didn't  I 
tell  you  all  professions  have  their  perqui- 
sites? " 

Jack  wondered — aloud,  as  his  way  was — 
if  the  Poet  knew  what  he  had  let  himself  in 
for  when  he  gave  Olivia  permission  to  use 
his  stamps.  But  Olivia  contemplated  a  col- 
lapse of  all  her  literary  efforts. 

"  I  sha'n't  have  any  time  to  write  for  my- 
self. He  seems  to  think  I'm  only  there  to 
be  at  his  beck  and  call,"  she  added  bitterly. 

"  Vyhich,  seeing  he  pays  you  to  be  his 
secretary,  is  of  course  absurd,"  commented 
William  sympathetically. 

We  considered  Olivia  had  been  deceived. 
She  had  asked  for  the  bread  of  poesy  and  re- 
ceived the  stone  of  journalism.  What  if  the 
Poet's  political  leaders  were  so  worded  that 
they  almost  convinced  the  Opposition?  They 
only   came   out   in   papers — everyday   news- 


CONCERNING  A  FIRST  ACQUAINTANCE,   iqi 

papers  like  the  one  that  came  in  with  the  milk 
every  morning,  and  which  we  should  never 
have  ordered  had  not  Belinda  argued  that 
the  Smiths'  boy  would  think  it  so  funny  if  we 
didn't  take  in  a  daily! 

I  wondered  sometimes  whether  other 
people  noticed  a  peculiarity  of  Olivia's.  She 
would  suddenly  make  a  remark  totally  irrele- 
vant to  the  subject  in  hand.  That  Sunday 
evening,  as  she  put  on  her  hat  to  return  to — 
what  there  was  of  Bohemia — she  said: 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  read  Trilby! " 

William,  too,  would  talk  a  jargon  we  did 
not  understand.  He  flung  himself  down  in 
a  chair,  remarking: 

"  Well,  there's  been  a  slump  in  Olivia's 
ideals." 


CHAPTER   VI. 
UNCLE  Joshua's  visit. 

Uncle  Joshua  invited  himself  to  stay 
with  us.  He  had  a  few  Httle  business  trifles 
to  attend  to  in  town,  could  we  put  him  up 
for  a  few  days?  His  letter  reminded  us  that 
we  should  have  asked  him  to  come  before: 
but  it  was  too  late  to  apologise,  so  we  merely 
said  how  delighted  we  should  be  to  see  him; 
would  he  come  as  soon  as  he  liked,  and  stay 
a  week,  not  a  few  days? 

"  If  we  each  take  the  responsibility  of  him 
for  a  day,"  remarked  Belinda,  "  he  will  not 
be  such  a  very  great  nuisance." 

We  explained  this  arrangement  to  Uncle 
on  the  Monday  night  of  his  arrival. 

"  To-morrow     you're     mine,"     I     said; 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  103 

"Wednesday,  Belinda's;  Thursday,  Jack's; 
Friday,  Pamela's;  and  on  Saturday  William 
will  devote  his  half-holiday  to  your  amuse- 
ment, and  on  Sunday  doubtless  Olivia  will 
grumble  for  your  benefit." 

Uncle  expressed  himself  delighted  at  our 
thoughtfulness. 

"  In  case  I  should  forget,"  he  observed, 
"  will  you  remind  me  each  morning  to  whom 
I  belong?  " 

We  put  him  in  the  room  vacant  by  Oliv- 
ia's departure. 

"  Don't  get  up  till  you're  called.  Uncle, 
because  William,  having  to  catch  the  early 
train,  must  have  his  bath  first,  and  it  takes 
some  time  for  the  water  to  heat  again." 

"  Oh,  of  course  William  must  be  consid- 
ered first,"  agreed  Uncle,  and  closed  his  door. 

"  He's  not  half  a  bad  little  sort,"  said  Be- 
linda meditatively,  "  but  I  quite  understand 
how  he  came  to  lose  his  money." 

Uncle  was  easily  pleased.     As  I  was  busy 


I04  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

about  the  house,  he  spent  the  whole  of  the 
next  morning  wandering  from  room  to  room 
looking  at  the  furniture,  and  asking  how 
much  it  cost.  Belinda,  who  was  drawing  in 
the  dining-room,  found  his  presence  some- 
what disturbing. 

"  Oh,  don't  fidget  so!  "  she  cried.  "  It's 
Maria's  day,  and  she  seems  to  be  neglecting 
you." 

In  the  afternoon  I  gave  him  a  bicycle  les- 
son on  William's  machine.  He  fell  off  a 
good  many  times,  but  I  encouraged  him  to 
persevere. 

"  Just  think  how  useful  it  would  be  to 
you  in  the  country.  'Tis  not  as  if  you  were 
a  rich  man  and  could  afford  horses." 

Toward  evening  William  suggested  that 
Uncle  should  do  some  gardening. 

"  There's  nothing  like  using  your  arms  to 
take  the  stiffness  out  of  your  legs — and  you 
must  be  stiff  after  that  bicycle  lesson.  The 
garden  wants  weeding  terribly.     When  you 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  105 

come  across  a  stone  or  a  snail,  chuck  it  into 
the  garden  next  door — that's  what  I  do." 

"  Your  neighbours  have  not  called  upon 
you,  I  understand,"  replied  Uncle,  preparing 
to  weed. 

At  breakfast  on  Wednesday  Belinda  re- 
minded our  visitor  it  was  her  turn  to  amuse 
him. 

"  I  have  to  take  some  drawings  up  to  the 

office  in  Fleet  Street.     You  can  come 

with  me.  Then  we'll  go  on,  look  at  the 
shops,  and  come  home  outside  an  omni- 
bus." 

Belinda  begged  Uncle  to  wait  below 
while  she  went  upstairs  to  the  editorial  sanc- 
tum. He  sat  on  the  stai^-s  and  had  a  doze, 
for  his  night's  rest  had  been  much  disturbed 
by  bicycle  nightmare.  Business  finished, 
they  directed  their  steps  toward  Piccadilly 
Circus,  up  Regent  Street,  and  along  Oxford 
Street  to  Buzzard's. 

"  We  sha'n't  be  home  in  time  for  lunch," 


I06      •     BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

said  Belinda,  "  so  we'll  have  a  glass  of  lemon- 
ade and  some  cake."  She  insisted  on  pay- 
ing for  both.  *'  If  you  want  to  spend  your 
money,  Uncle,  you  can  buy  me  some  trifle 
down  Bond  Street." 

In  Bond  Street  she  remembered  she  want- 
ed some  buttons,  and  they  went  into  a  shop. 
When  the  assistant .  had  turned  to  get  the 
buttons  Belinda  murmured: 

"  You  must  buy  something;  we  can't  go 
out  only  having  bought  buttons." 

Uncle  couldn't  remember  what  he  wanted. 
He  looked  round  vacantly  at  exquisite  etcet- 
eras of  feminine  attire. 

"  You  choose  something,"  he  whispered 
at  last,  "  and  I'll  pay  for  it." 

Belinda  inquired  the  way  to  the  blouse 
department,  and  spent  ten  minutes  in  decid- 
ing whether  blue  chiffon  or  pink  silk  would 
be  most  becoming. 

"  Blue's  my  colour — but  then,  it's  more 
expensive,"  she  sighed  regretfully. 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  107 

"  A  few  shillings  is  not  worth  mention- 
ing," returned  Uncle,  so  Belinda  decided  on 
the  blue.  She  insisted  on  taking  it  with  her, 
and  when  they  got  outside  the  shop  handed 
the  box  to  Uncle,  saying: 

"  People  won't  notice  you  carrying  a  par- 
cel, they  might  stare  at  me." 

So  Joshua  carried  the  parcel  all  down 
Piccadilly  till  they  got  a  'bus  at  Hyde  Park 
Corner  and  started  for  home,  Belinda  chat- 
ting delightfully  all  the  way. 

William  didn't  see  where  Uncle's  fun  had 
come  in  on  Belinda's  day. 

*'  He'll  see  me  in  the  blouse,"  replied  the 
owner  of  it. 

Uncle  was  easily  pleased. 

Thursday  he  appeared  rather  tired.  Jack 
kindly  proposed  spending  a  quiet  morning 
together  in  his  painting-room. 

"  I  once  did  a  day's  shopping  with  the 
girls,"  he  confided.  "  They  spent  five  min- 
utes at  every  window,  and  then  said  I  had 


I08  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

hurried  them  so,  that  they  couldn't  remem- 
ber what  they  wanted." 

Then  he  made  up  a  divan  on  the  floor. 

"  I'm  much  in  want  of  a  model  in  a  sleep- 
ing attitude — if  you'd  like  to  smoke  a  bit,  I've 
no  objection." 

Uncle  placed  himself  in  the  required  posi- 
tion after  handing  his  cigar-case  to  Jack,  beg- 
ging him  to  try  one  of  its  occupants.  Then 
he  dozed  ofT;  the  artist  woke  him  up  once 
to  explain  that  he  couldn't  draw  him  with 
his  mouth  open,  but  with  this  exception 
Uncle  spent  an  entirely  restful  morning. 
The  afternoon  we  spent  quietly  in  the  gar- 
den. 

On  Friday,  Uncle  maintained  it  was  im- 
perative he  should  go  into  the  city.  Pamela 
was  not  sure  if  she  should  let  him  go. 

"  It's  my  day  to  supply  you  with  pleas- 
ure, and  I  don't  care  about  the  city." 

"  There's  the  Tower  of  London,"  ob- 
served  Uncle,    "  that's   quite   worth   seeing, 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  109 

and  we  could  come  back  on  a  steamboat  part 
of  the  way." 

Pamela  agreed  to  this,  only  stipulating 
he  was  not  to  be  more  than  an  hour  over  his 
business.     On  her  return,  she  said: 

"  After  all,  Uncle  only  had  to  go  to  the 
Bank  of  England — and  he  makes  such  a  fuss 
about  trifles.  We  met  a  person  he  knew  just 
outside,  who  seemed  surprised  to  see  him." 

"  What  did  they  talk  about? "  queried 
Belinda. 

"  Oh,  William's  gibberish,"  replied  Wil- 
liam's sister.  "  Stocks  and  shares,  and  bears 
and  lions " 

"  It's  Olivia  who  talks  about  lions,  not 
William,"  I  corrected. 

"  Uncle  was  quite  lively — for  him,"  con- 
tinued Pamela.  "  This  Mr.  Dash  said, 
*  You're  a  warm  man  to-day,  eh,  Chilcott?  ' 
Uncle  replied:  '  Well,  I  am  pretty  warm;  the 
thermometer  is  about  80°  in  the  shade,  I 
should  say.'     And  they  both  laughed.     Then 


no  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Uncle  introduced  me.  Mr.  Dash  said, 
*  Lucky  young  lady  to  have  you  for  an  un- 
cle— '     *  Lucky  Uncle,  I  think,'  said " 

"  That  was  nice  of  him,"  interrupted  Be- 
linda, "  for  of  course  any  girls  might  have  an 
uncle  like  Joshua,  but  it  isn't  every  man  has 
a  niece  like  you,  Pamela." 

Pamela  blushed  with  pleasure,  and  think- 
ing it  a  propitious  moment,  mentioned  that 
she  would  so  like  to  try  on  BeHnda's  new 
blouse. 

"  Not  to  wear  it,  of  course — but  just  to 
see  how  I  look  in  it." 

Belinda  demurred.  She  would  think 
about  it. 

"  You  see,  I  don't  like  other  people  put- 
ting on  my  things,"  she  explained;  "  if  they 
look  nice  in  them  it  puts  me  out  of  conceit 
with  myself,  and  if  they  don't  look  nice — 
why,  it  puts  me  out  of  conceit  with  my 
clothes." 

The  Vicar  called  early  on  Saturday  morn- 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  m 

ing,  bringing  some  tickets  for  a  local  concert 
to  be  held  that  evening  in  the  parish  school- 
room. He  hoped  we  would  go  and  take 
Uncle  with  us. 

After  he  had  hurried  away  we  expressed 
a  wish  to  Uncle  to  have  his  photo.  On 
hearing  that  it  was  many  years  since  he  had 
had  one  taken,  we  begged  him  to  come, 
there  and  then,  into  Richmond  and  have  it 
done.  The  notion  pleased  him  and  we  all 
started  together.  He  looked  so  small  and 
lonely  sitting  up  on  the  photographer's  dais 
by  himself,  that  Belinda  hinted  he  would 
show  to  better  advantage  in  a  group;  so  we 
arranged  ourselves  gracefully  round  him. 
The  photographer  took  the  negative  into 
the  dark  room,  which  gave  Belinda  the  op- 
portunity to  remark,  without  fear  of  contra- 
diction, she  knew  she  would  come  out  badly, 
as  a  strong  desire  to  yawn  had  seized  her  just 
at  the  critical  moment. 

"  But  anyway  I  should  look  a  sight,"  she 


112  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS, 

concluded,  mournfully.  "  I  never  come  out 
well  in  a  group." 

"Then  why  not  be  taken  alone?"  said 
Uncle,  rather  surprised,  for  she  had  suggest- 
ed the  group  herself. 

Belinda  modestly  consented  and  was  done 
in  three  attitudes. 

When  the  photographer  professed  him- 
self satisfied,  she  exclaimed: 

"  It  hardly  seems  fair  that  I  should  be 
taken  alone  and  not  Maria  or  Pamela — you, 
Maria,  especially  ought  to  be  done.  The 
Church  has  asked  several  times  for  your 
photo." 

But  Uncle  Joshua  didn't  approve  of  his 
nieces'  photographs  being  sold  for  a  charity, 
which  was  what  he  understood  Belinda  to 
mean.  We  might  be  taken  separately  if  we 
would  promise  him  solemnly  to  keep  them 
strictly  private,  not  otherwise. 

It  was  a  very  successful  morning. 

"  I  don't  think  you've  come  out  so  very 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  113 

badly,  Uncle,"  said  Belinda  on  our  way 
home. 

William  spent  his  half-holiday  taking 
Uncle  for  a  long  pull  up  the  river. 

"  Joshua  paid  for  the  boat,  I  suppose," 
hazarded  Belinda  on  their  return. 

"Joshua!"  cried  William.  "No,  I  did, 
of  course;  he's  the  visitor,  not  I." 

William's  way  of  managing  circumstances 
was  less  original  than  ours,  still  Uncle  seemed 
to  have  been  much  struck  with  his  ideas 
on  hospitality.  During  supper  he  said  sud- 
denly: 

"  I  should  like  you  to  invest  a  small  sum 
for  me,  William.  I  feel  it  will  be  safe  in  your 
hands,  my  boy,"  and  passed  him  a  ten-pound 
note. 

"  Rather,"  responded  his  nephew  heartily. 
"  I'll  put  it  in  some  safe  concern,  and  keep  it 
warm  for  you.  I'm  not  one  of  those  fools 
who  play  with  large  sums  and  run  high  risks, 
and  end  by  losing  all  they've  got." 


tl4  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

I,  recollecting  how  Uncle  had  dropped  a 
fortune,  meant  only  to  give  William  a  hint 
not  to  hurt  his  feelings,  but  William  had  no 
intuitive  perceptions. 

*'  That's  twice  you've  kicked  me  under 
the  table,  Maria!  "  he  cried;  "  you  might  re- 
member I've  got  a  corn!  " 

The  boys  wouldn't  come  to  the  concert; 
they  preferred  a  smoke  over  a  game  of  chess. 
When  we  reached  the  door  of  the  schoolroom 
I  drew  out  the  tickets  for  the  first  time — they 
were  only  three,  and  we  were  four! 

I  knew  Belinda  expected  me  to  offer  to 
return;  but  I  maintained  a  dead  silence,  hav- 
ing reasons  of  my  own  for  thinking  I  should 
enjoy  the  concert. 

"  Well,  Uncle  must  go  back,"  said  she 
at  length. 

Uncle,  not  understanding  quite  what  the 
discussion  was  about,  intimated  that  .  he 
should  be  delighted. 

"  That's  a  nice  way  to  speak,"  cried  Be- 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  nj 

Hilda,  "  after  all  the  sacrifices  we've  made  to 
amuse  you!  " 

Uncle,  seeing  he  had  made  some  mistake, 
got  behind  my  sleeves. 

Pamela  had  a  gleam  of  intellect. 

"  If  we  sit  close  we  might  all  four  man- 
age to  sit  on  three  chairs." 

We  carried  this  practical  suggestion  into 
effect.  The  Vicar  came  up  and  remarked  on 
our  looking  a  little  warm. 

"  I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  he  went  on, 
grasping  the  reason  of  our  tight  appearance. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  came  back.  "  There's  a 
seat  here.  Miss  Maria,  next  to  mine,  if  you 
will  have  it." 

I  took  it.  It  was  a  very  nice  concert,  and 
I  thoroughly  enjoyed  it.  When  we  got 
home  and  were  going  to  bed,  Belinda  said : 

"Well?" 

"  Well,"  I  responded,  "  what?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  my  enigmatic 
sister,  and  got  into  bed. 


Il6  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Olivia  came  home  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
and  ran  upstairs  to  take  her  hat  off  in  her 
own  room.  She  knew  of  Uncle  Joshua's 
presence  in  the  house,  but  was  not  aware  of 
his  occupying  her  apartment.  She  opened 
the  door  without  knocking,  and  discovered 
its  inmate  spreading  patent  varnish  on  his 
boots  with  a  guilty  air,  by  the  aid  of  his  fore- 
finger. Olivia  had  no  manners.  Instead  of 
apologising  for  her  abrupt  entrance,  or  say- 
ing something  pleasant  by  way  of  a  greeting, 
she  sat  down  on  a  chair  and  observed  crossly: 

"  In  my  room,  too!  " 

"  Maria  put  me  here,"  stammered  Uncle, 
apologetically. 

'*  Maria  was  always  liberal  with  other  peo- 
ple's belongings,"  continued  my  sister  gra- 
ciously. "  I  should  have  thought  William 
might  have  blacked  your  boots,  he  has  noth- 
ing to  do  on  a  Sunday." 

Olivia  was  suffering  from  irritability, 
which  we  forgave  when  we  understood  she 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  117 

had  spent  the  entire  week  making  an  index 
to  the  Poet's  latest  literary  achievement. 

"  It's  got  regularly  into  my  brain,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  go  about  thinking  what  letter 
everything  should  be  placed  under.  Every 
insignificant  trifle  has  to  be  indexed.  Take 
you,  Uncle,  for  instance.  You're  Uncle,  and 
Joshua,  and  Chilcott.  So  you  would  go 
down  under  U  and  J  and  C.  In  one  place 
you'd  be  Chilcott,  comma.  Uncle  Joshua;  in 
the  next  Joshua  Chilcott,  comma,  Uncle; 
and  in  the  third.  Uncle  Joshua  Chilcott,  no 
comma.     Oh,  it's  maddening!  " 

"  I  should  think  Chilcott,  Joshua,  would 
be  enough,"  said  the  owner  of  the  name,  wip- 
ing a  black  forefinger  meditatively  on  the 
sole  of  his  boot.  "  You  see,  it  isn't  really 
necessary  to  mention  the  Uncle  part  of  the 
business." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  you're  ashamed  of  us," 
retorted  Olivia,  "  there's  no  more  to  be  said. 
.  .  .  My  room  will  smell  now  of  blacking 


Il8  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

for  ever  so  long,  and  I'm  coming  home  for 
holidays  in  six  weeks." 

Uncle  expressed  his  intention  of  leaving 
orders  with  the  nearest  decorators  for  the 
room  to  be  done  up,  whitewashed  and  re- 
papered,  on  his  departure,  to  remove  any  lin- 
gering odour  of  varnish,  and  Olivia  was  mol- 
Hfied. 

"  Let's  have  tea  early  and  go  for  a  walk," 
she  pleaded;  "it  will  help  to  get  the  index 
out  of  my  brain." 

So  in  an  hour  or  so  we  left  the  house  for 
a  lengthy  stroll.  Owing  to  the  varnish  not 
having  had  time  to  dry,  as  we  went  along  the 
dusty  roads.  Uncle's  boots  took  on  a  more 
and  more  speckled  appearance. 

"  He  can't  even  clean  his  boots  properly," 
said  Olivia  loudly,  as  he  stepped  on  in  front 
with  Pamela.  "  I'm  ashamed  to  be  seen  out 
W'ith  him." 

Olivia  was  not  a  consistent  Bohemian. 
Later,  when  she  had  left,  Uncle  remarked: 


UNCLE  JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  119 

"  I  thought  OHvia  seemed  a  trifle  put 
out." 

We  discoursed  on  how  she  had  met  with 
a  disappointment. 

"  The  cause  is  a  lost  illusion,  and  the  effect 
bad  temper,"  said  I. 

"  She  found  mere  prose  where  she  had 
expected  poetry,"  summoned  up  Jack  in  con- 
clusion. 

"  Or  at  least  blank  verse,"  added  William, 
who  could  never  be  induced  to  believe  any- 
thing was  poetry  that  did  not  rhyme. 

Uncle  was  sorry  to  hear  it;  personally,  he 
had  been  "fortunate  in  retaining  many  illu- 
sions with  which  he  had  started  in  life. 

Belinda  said  this  remark  strengthened 
her  in  the  belief  that  people  who  cherished 
illusions  had  a  silly  habit  of  letting  practical 
advantages  slip  through  their  hands. 

This  seemed  so  personal,  that  to  turn  the 
subject  I  begged  Uncle  to  say  what  he 
thought  of  our  furniture. 


120  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  Why,  it's  very  nice,"  he  answered, 
glancing  round — "  very  nice,  what  there  is 
of  it."  This,  perhaps,  sounding  a  httle  fee- 
ble in  his  own  ears,  he  added  briskly — "  and 
quite  enough,  such  as  it  is." 

"  It's  time  you  went  to  bed  if  you're  go- 
ing to  get  silly,"  said  Belinda. 

Uncle's  visit  had  been  such  a  pleasure  that 
we  pressed  him  to  stay  another  week;  but  he 
refused,  so  we  spent  the  Monday  morning  in 
helping  him  to  pack.  Pamela  cried  as  he 
bade  us  good-bye,  and  he,  not  knowing  how 
near  the  surface  were  her  tears,  was  touched. 

"  You  must  come  and  stay  with  me,  little 
Pamela  woman;  and  don't  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  go  on  the  Stage — it's  easy  enough 
to  go  on,  the  difficulty  is  to  get  on." 

I  have  noticed  that  men  resent  being  ex- 
pected to  know  much  about  any  profession 
outside  their  own,  with  the  exception  of  the 
Stage;  they  all  appear  to  be  aware  of  some- 
thing discreditable  to  the  Drama. 


UNCLE   JOSHUA'S  VISIT.  121 

Belinda  was  angry  with  Pamela  for  cry- 
ing. 

"  He'll  think  now,  because  you  pumped 
up  a  few  tears,  that  you  care  more  for  him 
than  we  do,"  she  said,  as  we  stood  by  the 
gate  watching  the  hansom  out  of  sight; 
"  and  anyone  can  cry,  at  least  I  could  if  it 
didn't  make  my  nose  so  red.  If  we  do  go 
down  to  The  Court,  of  course  we  shall  go  in 
order  of  age." 

"  Then  Maria  w411  go  first  and  not  you, 
Belinda,"  retorted  Pamela,  putting  a  damp 
handkerchief  into  her  pocket. 

"  And  if  Maria,"  said  the  second  of  the 
family  complacently,  *'  should  happen  not  to 
be  anxious  to  leave  Brick  Park  just  at  pres- 
ent, remember  in  that  case  I  should  be  the 
eldest." 


CHAPTER    VII. 

WE    TAKE    IN    A    BOARDER. 

It  was  entirely  Belinda's  notion  to  take 
in  a  boarder, 

"  Nowadays,"  she  said,  "  it  is  considered 
quite  the  thing  to  have  a  stranger  within  the 
gates  for  purely  pecuniary  reasons," 

"What,  a  lodger!"  cried  Jack,  in  dis- 
gust. 

"  No,  not  a  lodger,  Jack;  a  paying 
guest." 

Later  she  confessed  that  her  idea  was  not 
quite  original,  but  adapted  from  a  book; 
Fiction  was  ever  our  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend.  Was  she  to  blame  if  things  didn't 
turn  out  in  real  life  after  the  same  fashion 
they    had  in  the  novel?     Anyone  at  all  well 

122 


WE   TAKE    IN   A   BOARDER.  123 

read  in  the  literature  of  the  day  must  be  aware 
of  the  great  gulf  fixed  between  life  in  the  sub- 
urbs and  Mudie's  latest! 

In  Belinda's  book  the  paying  guest 
boarded  with  a  widow  and  her  lovely  daugh- 
ter, in  a  dear  little  secluded  cottage  on  the 
borders  of  Devon.  He  spent  his  time  inno- 
cently, fishing  for  trout  in  the  morning  and 
for  compliments  in  the  afternoon.  The 
widow  cooked  the  fish  and  the  daughter  sup- 
plied the  compliments — so  lavishly,  indeed, 
that  he  came  to  feel  he  could  not  live  without 
her.  So  he  proposed,  and  was  accepted  as  a 
captain  on  half-pay;  and  then  he  turned  out 
to  be  a  lord,  with  a  castle  of  his  own — not  in 
the  air  but  on  the  ground — supported  by  a 
substantial  income.  They  were  happy  ever 
after,  only  his  relations  said  among  them- 
selves there  w-as  evidently  more  than  one  sort 
of  fishing  in  Devonshire. 

Our  boarder  gave  us  a  surprise,  but  there 
the  parallel  ended. 


124  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

William  thought  we  should  do  well  to 
have  a  girl. 

"  Some  American,  now,"  he  suggested, 
"  who  wants  to  see  life  in  London." 

But  Belinda  would  not  agree  to  this. 

"  Americans'  ideas  on  life  are  limited.  I 
fear  they  don't  stretch  as  far  as  Brick  Park, 
S.W.  Besides,  dear  boy,  a  man  is  so  much 
less  trouble  in  the  house  than  a  girl.  He's  out 
more,  and  doesn't  ask  so  many  questions.  If 
we  feed  him  well,  he  won't  notice  there  isn't 
a  towel-rack  in  his  bedroom,  whilst  a  woman 
would  be  telling  us  she  couldn't  sleep  for  fear 
the  chair  would  catch  cold  with  a  damp  towel 
upon  it." 

''  Oh,  all  right,  have  it  your  own  way," 
quoth  William;  ''  but  don't  come  down  on 
me  when  the  paying  guest  don't  pay." 

Privately  Belinda  confided  to  me  another 
reason : 

"  You  never  know,  Maria;  suppose  some 
designing  woman   came  along.     Jack  is  so 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER.  125 

handsome,  and  even  William  is  good-looking 
in  a  plain  way.  We  couldn't,  for  the  sake  of 
appearances,  begin  by  telling  the  boarder 
they  haven't  a  sixpence  between  them." 

I  recalled  how  Olivia,  in  a  pet,  once  said 
that  the  only  thing  Belinda  was  ever  gener- 
ous about  was  giving  away  her  own  sex. 

Our  first  guest  was  a  retired  Colonel. 
He  only  stayed  a  week,  and  gave  no  reason 
for  leaving,  beyond  that  he  felt  sure  the 
neighbourhood  didn't  agree  with  him.  But 
to  Mary  he  confided  that  his  bed  was  so  nar- 
row, when  he  w^anted  to  turn  over  he  had  to 
get  out,  walk  round,  and  get  in  at  the  other 
side.  We  did  not  believe  this  story  until  we 
found  that  the  Colonel  pitched  his  retired 
tent  at  a  longer  established  boarding-house 
than  ours,  a  few  yards  down  the  road.  Then 
Belinda  pointed  out  how  it  was  the  essence  of 
courtesy  to  tell  tarradiddles  when  the  truth 
would  have  hurt  our  feelings. 

"  There  must  be  ups  and  downs  to  every 


126  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

undertaking,"  she  concluded.  "  For  my 
part,  I  mean  to  talk  to  the  Colonel  as  if  I 
knew  No.  15  was  surrounded  by  pure  oxy- 
gen." 

She  did,  and  the  Colonel  remained  our 
very  good  friend,  and  frequently  took  us  to 
Hurlingham. 

Our  second  boarder  was  a  pale,  subdued 
young  man,  good-looking  in  a  melancholy 
fashion,  with  an  abstracted  manner.  He 
grew  confidential  as  we  fell  to  treating  him 
as  one  of  the  family,  and  related  how  he  was 
a  widower,  his  wife  having  died  but  recently. 
We  tried  to  cheer  him  up,  encouraging  him 
to  talk  about  his  troubles — a  good  talk  will 
talk  the  sting  out  of  most  misfortunes.  The 
result  of  our  sympathy  was  for  a  while  un- 
certain. He  was  out  most  of  the  day,  re- 
turning each  evening  seemingly  more  weary 
and  dispirited  than  the  last.  One  night  the 
clock  had  struck  nine  before  he  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance.    We  were  sitting  in  the  drawing- 


WE   TAKE   IN   A  BOARDER.  127 

room  variously  occupied,  when  he  strode  in 
carrying  something  in  his  arms  which  he  de- 
posited on  the  floor  in  our  midst. 

It  was  a  baby  boy  about  a  year  old! 

We  were  silent  from  surprise;  our  boarder 
offered  no  explanation  at  first,  but  sat  gazing 
at  the  child  dejectedly. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it?  "  inquired  Wil- 
liam as  the  silence  grew  oppressive. 

"  Oh,  it's  mine,"  replied  its  parent,  in  the 
tone  of  one  who  would  say — "  A  poor  thing, 
but  mine  own."  "  The  truth  is,  the  people  I 
left  it  with  after  my  wife's  death  won't  keep 
it  any  longer.  They  say  it  cries  when  it  is 
left  in  the  house  alone." 

"  I  should  think  so!  "  exclaimed  Pamela 
indignantly,  going  down  on  her  hands  and 
knees  to  examine  it  closer.     "  Poor  mite!  " 

The  baby,  attracted  by  her  bright  hair 
and  caressing  voice,  gave  a  little  coo  of  pleas- 
ure, ending  abruptly  in  a  great  sigh,  and  then 
began  to  wail  in  self-pity. 


128  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  If  I  might  keep  him  here  a  day  or  two," 
broke  in  the  father,  looking  anxiously  from 
one  to  another,  "  just  until  I  can  find  some- 
one to  look  after  him?  " 

"  Of  course!  "  we  cried  in  a  breath. 

"  Why  didn't  you  bring  it  at  first  with 
your  other  luggage?  "  asked  Belinda  coldly. 

"  What  does  it  eat?  "  I  interrupted. 

He  didn't  know.  We  called  in  Mary, 
whom  nothing  ever  surprised.  She  rose  to 
the  emergency,  and  said,  "  Mellin's  Food  "; 
and  might  she  take  it  in  the  kitchen?  Pa- 
mela went  too,  but  curiosity  kept  Belinda  and 
I  from  following. 

The  father  looked  so  harassed  and  de- 
pressed, that  Jack  begged  him  to  come  into 
the  next  room  and  have  some  supper. 

"  Let  the  little  beggar  stay,"  urged  Wil- 
liam; "  I  will  look  after  him — he  shall  be  my 
little  unpaying  guest." 

William,  by  judiciously  giving  notice  at 
the  very  time  he  wais  most  required,  had  been 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER.  129 

asked  to  remain  at  a  higher  salary,  an  offer  he 
accepted  with  an  air  of  combined  resignation 
and  self-sacrifice. 

He  became  the  baby's  slave,  having  it  to 
early  breakfast  with  him  in  the  morning,  and 
keeping  it  up  late  at  night.  He  bought  au- 
tomatic  toys  for  its  amusement,  and  alto- 
gether showed  himself  "  a  born  parent,"  as 
Mary  expressed  it.  The  boy  was  a  chubby, 
happy  little  soul,  who  expanded  like  a  flower 
in  the  sunlight  under  judicious  care  and  much 
caressing.  Now  and  again  it  would  fall  into 
abstracted  fits  of  thought  like  its  father, 
clasping  one  tiny  foot  with  his  hand,  and 
gazing  with  unseeing  eyes  into  some  dim  fu- 
turity we  could  not  enter.  "On  these  occa- 
sions. Jack,  if  near,  invariably  used  it  as  a 
model.  In  its  ordinary  moments  it  was 
never  still  enough  to  be  of  use  to  our  artist. 

The  father's  gratitude  was  touching,  espe- 
cially to  Belinda,  when  she  made  the  boy  a 
pinafore.      He    never   noticed    the    garment 


130  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

was  in  two  shades  and  three  materials — gath- 
ered from  the  family  piece-bag.  He  told 
Pamela  how  Belinda  reminded  him  of  his 
dead  wife. 

"  She  has  the  same  sweet  smile,  and  the 
same  simple,  guileless  manners." 

'*  I  decided,"  smiled  Pamela,  repeating 
this  conversation,  "  it  was  better  not  to  tell 
him  that  she  got  out  of  her  turn  to  amuse 
the  boy  by  pretending  she  had  a  toothache." 

A  fortnight  passed.  One  evening  our 
guest  never  came  home  at  all;  another  day 
went  by,  and  still  he  appeared  not.  We  were 
growing  anxious,  when  on  the  third  morn- 
ing Belinda  received  a  letter  postmarked 
Liverpool.  Our  late  inmate  wrote  that  by 
the  time  we  received  his  epistle  he  would  be 
on  the  sea,  bound  for  America;  he  had  tried 
in  vain  to  obtain  occupation  in  London  with- 
out success,  and  risked  his  last  earnings  in 
setting  forth  for  a  new  country.  He  apolo- 
gised for  leaving  the  boy  on  our  hands,  and 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER.  131 

would  send  for  him  directly  he  had  got  some 
sort  of  home,  however  poor,  together.  Till 
then  he  trusted  we  would  not  turn  the  child 
adrift.  The  letter  concluded  by  thanking  us 
for  our  kindness,  which  had  kept  the  writer 
from  despair. 

Pamela  cried  in  sympathy  with  the  pa- 
thos. Jack  laughed  and  tossed  the  baby, 
who  had  not  missed  its  father  in  the  least,  in 
the  air. 

Belinda  was  mortified  into  admitting  that 
boarders  were  an  utter  failure. 

"  I  did  think  he  was  a  gentleman!  "  she 
cried  angrily. 

Mr.  Kittiwake,  who  had  dropped  into  the 
habit  of  discussing  our  family  plans  with  the 
freedom  of  a  relation  and  the  self-assurance 
of  a  stranger,  came  in  to  see  us  nearly  every 
day.  He  took  an  increasing  dislike  to  the 
deserted  orphan  left  in  our  charge,  and  sug- 
gested, as  I  finished  reading  its  father's  letter 
aloud,  that  we  should  hand  the  child  over  to 


132 


BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 


some  nice  motherly  woman  who  would  look 
after  it. 

"  There's  Mrs.  Davis  now — she " 

"  Never!  "  I  interrupted.  ''  How  do  you 
know  she  would  be  good  to  the  darling?  Be- 
sides, William  would  never  part  with  him." 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  must  take  your 
own  way,  Miss  Chilcott,"  said  the  Vicar 
stiffly. 

"  My  name  is  Maria,"  I  answered  with 
dignity,  "  and  you  seem  to  forget  that  it  is 
our  duty — our  duty — to  look  after  the  fa- 
therless." 

"  Well,  that's  just  the  point  I  was  coming 
to.  Mrs.  Davis  has  had  several  children  of 
her  own,  and  understands  them  thoroughly. 
And  you  know — I  don't  mention  it  to  hurt 
your  feelings,  but  you  told  me  yourself  you 
had  missed  a  button  the  boy  was  playing 
with." 

"  He  may  have  swallowed  the  button,  or 
he  may  not.    It  may  be  on  the  floor  still " 


WE   TAKE    IN    A   BOARDER.  133 

"  Oh,  of  course,  if  the  floor  hasn't  been 
swept  since,  there's  some  hope,"  began  the 
Vicar  cheerfully. 

"  This  room  is  swept  every  day,"  I  cried 
indignantly,  "  I  do  it  myself;  but  I  might,  it's 
just  possible  I  overlooked  the  button." 

Mr.  Kittiwake  apologised  for  his  insinua- 
tion, and  begged  me  to  believe  he  considered 
me  the  very  latest  edition  of  the  last  chapter 
of  Proverbs. 

"  But  seriously.  Miss  Maria,  when  that 
boy  comes  to  grow  up  he  will  have  to  be 
educated  and  put  into  some  profession.  Do 
you  really  feel  inclined  to  take  the  responsi- 
bility? " 

We  had  not  looked  so  far  ahead. 

"  His  father  says  he  will  send  for  him  di- 
rectly he  can,"  I  maintained  faintly. 

The  Vicar  was  silent  save  for  a  contemp- 
tuous snif¥,  which  made  me  angry. 

"  Only  last  Sunday,"  I  cried,  "  you 
preached  about  people  drawing  uncharitable 


13-4  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

conclusions!      You'd    better    go    home    and 
read  your  own  sermon." 

My  listener  gasped.  Perhaps  he  had 
never  been  spoken  to  in  that  way  before. 
He  seized  his  hat  and  rose  offendedly. 

"  Oh,  you  can  go!  "  I  went  on,  picking 
up  a  duster  I  had  been  using  on  his  entrance 
and  flicking  a  chair  vigorously. 

He  went  without  a  word. 
'Someone  has  said  there  is  no  noise  as 
effective  as  silence.  When  he  had  about 
reached  the  front  door  I  recollected  how 
wrong  it  was  to  be  disrespectful  to  the  Vicar 
of  one's  parish.  If  I  called  "  Theophilus " 
instead  of  "  Mr.  Kittiwake,"  it  was  because 
I  had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  using  his  Chris- 
tian name  to  myself  when  thinking  of  him. 
He  came  back  and  stood  in  the  doorway. 
The  bead  fringe,  an  item  in  Pamela's 
scheme  of  furnishing,  parted  and  hung 
round  his  head,  rather  detracting  from  his 
dignity. 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER.  135 

"  I  may  think  over  your  plan  of  sending 
the  boy  to  Mrs.  Davis." 

"  Is  that  all?  " 

**  That's  all — I'm  afraid  I've  rather  wasted 
your  time  this  morning." 

But  instead  of  going,  the  Vicar  stepped 
into  the  room  and  seated  himself  with  an  ob- 
stinate expression. 

"  You  do  want  dusting,"  I  observed  criti- 
cally; "your  coat  looks  as  if  it  hadn't  been 
brushed  for  a  twelvemonth." 

'*  Maria!  " 

"Well?" 

"  Say  you  are  sorry.'* 

"  Sorry— what  for?  " 

"  What  for?  For — er — for  not  taking 
my  advice,  my  pastoral  advice,  Miss  Chil- 
cott,  in  the  spirit  it  was  offered.  For  be- 
ing rude,  very  rude  in  fact,  Maria,"  he  con- 
cluded, dropping  the  clerical  tone  and  as- 
suming the  expression  of  an  injured  school- 
boy. 


136  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  But  I'm  not  sorry — you  wouldn't  like 
me  to  tell  an  untruth  to  please  you?  " 

The  Vicar  sighed  and  sat  still. 

"  I  will  let  you  know — send  a  note  round 
■ — when  I  am,"  I  said. 

Still  silence.  Far  in  the  distance  I  heard 
the  hum  of  a  street  piano;  upstairs  Pamela 
was  singing  softly  to  its  tune. 

The  fresh  morning  light  fell  on  the  Vicar's 
face  as  he  sat  immovable.  He  looked  tired 
and  depressed.     After  all — 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  was  rude,"  I  admitted 
grudgingly. 

"  You  were,"  he  assented  cheerfully. 
Then  he  rose,  taking  the  duster  from  my 
hand.  I  prepared  to  listen  to  a  homily,  but 
instead  these  words  fell  on  my  ear: 

"  I  love  you,  Maria." 

Surprise  restored  my  self-assurance. 

"  Really! "  I  retorted,  moving  away. 
"  One  would  hardly  have  guessed  it,  judging 
from  our  previous  conversation." 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER. 


137 


"  I've  loved  you  ever  since   I   saw  you,    . 
ever  since  I've  known  you,  especially  since 
you  sent  me  an  anonymous  Postal  Order  for 
half-a-crown  to  show  your  sympathy  with  the  ^ 
deficiency  in  the  offertory " 

*'  I  never  did — never,  never,  never;  some 
horrid  girl  in  love  with  you " 

"  Oh,  come,"  said  the  Vicar,  smiling; 
"  why,  it  was  folded  in  a  sheet  of  paper 
stamped  with  this  address."  / 

Then  I  recalled  Belinda's  confidence,  how 
she  had  sent  a  gift  to  the  Church.  She  was 
never  consistent:  it  was  like  her  to  send  it 
anonymously  in  a  sheet  of  paper  which  gave 
away  the  donor.  I  debated  mentally  whether 
I  should  explain  this  or  not. 

But  no,  he  might  go  back  and  begin  to 
love  Belinda. 

"  I've  changed  a  good  deal  since  then, 
Mr.  Kittiwake." 

"  You  grow  prettier  every  day,"  agreed 
the  Vicar  comfortably. 


138  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Whose  dignity  could  stand  against  a  pro- 
posal of  this  sort?     Not  mine. 

Theophilus,  as  he  desired  me  to  call  him, 
helped  to  finish  dusting  the  room.  He  broke 
two  ornaments,  was  very  slow,  and  shook  his 
duster  out  of  the  window  in  such  a  way  that 
the  dust  all  flew  back  in  his  face. 

As  twelve  struck  he  remembered  having 
made  an  appointment  for  eleven,  and  com- 
menced saying  good-bye  with  reluctance. 

He  may  have  been,  as  was  said,  weak 
about  the  knees,  but  his  arms  were  strong 
and  tender. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  hazarded  presently, 
"  that  I  must  come  and  have  a  talk  with  Wil- 
liam— he  appears  to  be  the  head  of  the 
family." 

"Oh,  William  likes  you!" 

"  That's  kind  of  him.  Do  you  think  Be- 
linda likes  me?  " 

.       "Well,"    I    replied,   dubiously,    "Pamela 
does." 


WE   TAKE   IN   A   BOARDER. 


139 


"  I  said  Belinda!  " 

*'  The  truth  is — to  be  open  with  you — Be- 
Hnda  laughs  at  you  a  good  deal.  You  would 
rather  know  at  once,  wouldn't  you? — you 
don't  mind?  " 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  responded  Theophilus; 
but  he  bit  the  end  of  his  moustache  vexedly. 

"  After  all,  who's  Belinda " 

"  Belinda's  your  sister,'*  replied  my  future 
husband,  sententiously;  "  and  of  course  I 
wish  all  your  relations  to  like  me  as  I  wish 
to  like  them  all." 

"  Shall  I  have  to  like  all  yours?  "  I  que- 
ried, blankly. 

"  I've  only  got  one,  an  uncle " 

"  That's  all  I've  got " 

"  Yes,  and  by-the-by,  Maria,  when  Mr. 
Chilcott  was  here  I  noticed  that  you — all  of 
you — didn't  treat  him — er — well,  like  an 
uncle,  in  fact." 

"  If  you  have  a  copy  of  Hozv  to  Treat  an 

Uncle,  you  might  lend  it  to  me.     But  all  the 
10 


I4P  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

same  we  cried  when  he  went  away;  what 
more  could  a  man  expect?  " 

"  Would  you  cry  if  I  went  away,  Maria, 
little  woman?  " 

I  thought  he  would  never  go — in  the 
hall,  too! 

When  he  at  last  left,  a  sudden  idea  struck 
me.  I  ran  out  and  caught  him  up  at  the  end 
of  our  secluded  road. 

"  Theophilus,  you  really  do  mean  to 
marry  me?  " 

"  Of  course,"  he  answered,  looking  puz- 
zled. 

"  You  never  mentioned  the  word  '  mar- 
riage '  when  we  were  talking." 

"  I  supposed  you  would  understand  my 
intentions  were  honourable,"  remarked  the 
person  addressed,  loftily.  He  was  so  quickly 
olTended. 

"  I  did,  then  I  recollected  that  in  books 
the  heroine  always  gets  angry  if  the  actual 
word  *  marriage  '  isn't  mentioned." 


WE  TAKE   IN  A   BOARDER.  141 

"  When  you're  my  wife  you  sha'n't  read 
so  many  rubbishy  novels,"  replied  the  Vicar, 
at  the  same  moment  producing  a  note  from 
his  pocket.  "  In  case  you  were  out,  I 
brought  this  to  leave — you'd  better  read  it. 
It  will,  perhaps,  dispel  any  doubts  as  to  my 
intentions." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  don't  really  want — well,  per- 
haps, just  to  satisfy  Belinda;  she  might  not 
believe." 

But  Theophilus  put  it  back  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  don't  care  about  other  people  reading 
my  letters  to  you,  especially  Belinda.  She 
might  make  fun  of  it." 

Which  was  exactly  what  she  would  have 
done. 

"  But  how  can  I  answer,"  I  asked  meekly, 
"  if  I  don't  read  it?  " 

He  wavered;  finally,  on  my  promising  no 
eyes  but  mine  should  ever  see  it,  handed  it 
over. 

I  read  it  twice  or  more,  and  sent  the  an- 


142  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

swer  by  Mary,  in  case  it  should  get  lost  in  the 
post.  Mary  congratulated  me,  saying  of 
course  she  should  keep  her  promise  of  living 
with  the  first  member  of  the  family  that  got 
married. 

"And  I  wish  you  joy,  Miss  Maria;  and 
as  it  couldn't  be  Miss  Pamela,  I'd  rather  it 
was  you  than  Miss  Belinda." 

When  Belinda  came  in  from  a  long  morn- 
ing's sketching  in  town,  I  related  what  had 
occurred  in  her  absence.  She  promised  never 
to  divulge  that  she  sent  the  Postal  Order. 

"  Though  I  shouldn't  have  wasted  it  had 
I  guessed  he  was  going  to  be  my  brother- 
in-law." 

"  He  thinks  you  don't  like  him,  Belinda." 

"  Well,  he's  hit  the  right  nail  on  the  head 
for  once  in  his  life.  Still,  I'll  try  to  be  nice 
to  him  for  your  sake;  and,  Maria,  I  think 
you'd  be  more  comfortable  in  your  mind  if 
you  paid  me  back  that  half-crown." 

Which  I  did. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

A   LETTER   FROM    BOHEMIA. 

We  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  from  Oliv- 
ia for  nearly  a  fortnight,  when  the  early  post 
brought  us  a  long,  type-written  epistle  from 
the  one  absent  member  of  our  circle. 

Pamela,  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  volun- 
teered to  read  it  aloud  at  the  breakfast-table. 

"  It's  in  Olivia's  best  literary  style,"  she 
announced,  "and  begins: 

"  My  dear  P.  and  the  rest,  including  Jin- 
kie — 

"  Do  not,   I   pray  you,   picture   me   still 

weeping  among  the  ashes  of  disappointment, 

clothed  in  the  sackcloth  of  lost  illusions. 

**  Illusions  are  never  lost;  they  are  merely 

143 


144  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

exchanged,  I  have  exchanged  mine  on  Bo- 
hemia. 

"  The  ideas  I  cherished  so  fondly  would 
not  have  been  in  keeping  with  the  end  of  this 
century.  As  you  know,  I  would  rather  have 
chosen  to  live  in  the  days  when  to  write  any- 
thing longer  than  your  own  name  and  ad- 
dress laid  you  open  to  the  charge  of  eccentrici- 
ty, than  in  these  when  one  can  write  a  novel 
or  wear  a  divided  skirt  without  being  other 
than  commonplace.  Truly  is  it  written, 
'  Man  knoweth  not  his  latter  end,'  neither, 
unfortunately,  hath  he  any  choice  in  the  date 
of  his  beginning. 

"  Bohemia  improves  vastly  on  acquaint- 
ance." 

"  It's  more  than  the  toast  does,"  inter- 
rupted Jack,  making  an  onslaught  on  the 
butter. 

"  Its  spirit  is  and  ever  will  be  the  same, 
but  its  landmarks  alter  with  the  tides  of  each 
generation.     It  is  no  longer  a  country  in- 


A  LETTER   FROM   BOHEMIA.  145 

habited  by  a  few  geniuses,  and  many  ingen- 
ious failures,  for  it  now  owns  no  genius — at 
least,  none  universally  so  admitted;  neither 
has  it  any  failures,  for  all,  apparently,  have  a 
few  believers.  Its  boundaries  of  late  have 
been  greatly  enlarged — to  admit  of  large 
numbers  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand.  The 
Upper  Ten  have  developed  brains;  and  Bo- 
hemia in  return  has  yoked  itself  with  conven- 
tions, and  now  leaves  visiting  cards  where 
formerly  it  left  marks  on  the  door-handle. 
There  is,  too,  some  difficulty  in  deciding 
whether  it  is  better  to  be  a  Social  Lion  in 
Bohemia,  or  a  Bohemian  in  Society;  both 
have  an  excellent  time,  and  a  large  circle  of 
imitators. 

"  By-the-by,  ask  Maria  if  she  would  look 
out  and  do  up  my  green  silk  skirt.  Velve- 
teen is  one  of  the  illusions  I  have  exchanged 
— for  chine." 

Here  Pamela  paused  to  begin  her  coflfee, 
and  Belinda  went  on  with  the  letter: 


146  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

"  I  have  asked  for  a  holiday — a  whole 
holiday  —  next  Wednesday.  '  My  eldest 
brother  comes  of  age,'  said  I  in  extenuation 
of  my  demand;  '  if  you  can  spare  me,  I 
should  like  to  be  present.'  The  Poet  seemed 
surprised,  but  consented,  remarking  he  never 
knew  before  that  people  ever  came  of  age  in 
the  suburbs,  but  I  might  go  by  all  means,  and 
he  hoped  I  should  enjoy  it.  So  I  shall  come 
early — early — early  in  the  morning,  and  stay 
late. 

"  I  made  my  first  celebrated  acquaintance 
under  a  cloud  of  misapprehension.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  his  inopportune  arrival  I  should 
have  spent  last  Sunday  afternoon  with  you  as 
usual.  He  came  to  call,  found  his  intention 
frustrated,  there  being  no  one  at  home;  the 
parlour-maid  suggested  the  possibility  of  Mrs. 
Poet  returning  shortly,  whereupon  he  de- 
cided to  wait  upon  the  chance.  Mrs.  Poet's 
not  at  home  resolved  itself  into  a  rest  after 
lunch  in  her  boudoir.     *  Pray  go  '   (this  to 


A  LETTER   FROM   BOHEMIA.  147 

me)  *  and  talk  to  him;  it's  only  Brown — say  I 
shall  probably  be  in  soon.'  '  Only  Brown ' 
appeared  a  pleasant  but  in  no  way  remarkable 
personage.  He  opened  the  conversation 
with  the  aid  of  the  weather,  after  I  had  intro- 
duced myself  and  begged  him  to  await  the 
return  of  his  hostess.  He  told  me  he  had 
been  to  church  that  morning,  and  I  gath- 
ered he  had  spent  the  time  by  reckoning  how 
many  degrees  the  thermometer  went  up  to 
each  additional  worshipper. 

"  I  adroitly  used  his  opening  to  turn  the 
conversation  into  a  more  personal  channel. 
His  name  conveyed  nothing  to  me,  and  I 
did  not  want  to  spend  more  time  than  I  could 
help  talking  to  a  nobody. 

"  *  Whether  one  feels  the  heat  or  not  de- 
pends greatly  on  one's  occupation.  Now 
what  do  you  do?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  I — er — I  paint  a  little,  and  draw 
a  little,'  he  said  modestly,  pulling  his  mous- 
tache. 


148  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  It  was  as  I  had  thought;  here  I  had  lost 
my  train  having  to  stay  and  talk  to  a  mere  be- 
ginner, with  one  foot,  perhaps  only  a  toe, 
on  the  ladder  of  renown,  and  the  other  still 
deep  among  the  submerged  Middle  Classes. 

"  But  it  was  my  duty  to  be  polite,  so  we 
had  a  long  chat  about  Art  and  artists,  and  I 
advised  him  to  stick  steadily  to  one  branch, 
as  he  owned  to  having  dabbled  in  oils,  water- 
colours,  and  even  tried  illustrating.  Seeing 
that  he  was  still  young  enough  to  make  a 
career  possible,  I  pointed  out  his  best  plan 
would  be  to  begin  again  at  the  beginning, 
and  begged  him  to  go  in  for  a  thorough 
course  of  School  of  Art  training. 

"  Then  Mrs.  Poet  came  in  with  her  bon- 
net on,  and  murmured  something  about  the 
heat  in  the  park  being  overpowering.  We 
had  tea,  and  the  visitor  departed. 

" '  Is  his  name  really  Brown? '  I  said, 
more  for  something  to  say  than  any  other 
reason. 


A  LETTER  FROM   BOHEMIA.  149 

"'Why,  of  course,  dear.  Brown,  R.A.; 
surely  you've  heard  of  him.' 

"  I  tried  to  forget  about  the  School  of 
Art,  and  nearly  had  when  it  was  recalled  to- 
me next  morning.  I  went  into  the  City  to 
get  some  type-writing  paper.  The  Poet  said 
I  might  go  in  an  omnibus — he's  very  good 
at  stretching  my  secretarial  duties  to  include 
something  pleasant — so  I  started.  A  'bus 
came  along,  full  outside,  but  the  conductor 
was  missing.  It  appeared  a  good  opportu- 
nity for  practising  getting  on  without  stop- 
ping the  vehicle.  I  ran,  gave  a  little  jump, 
and  sank  gracefully  into  a  corner.  The  con- 
ductor came  down  and  clipped  my  ticket  re- 
proachfully. *  Hif  there  'ad  been  a  accident, 
Miss,  I  should  a  been  blamed.'  '  You  would,' 
I  agreed  cheerfully,  '  for  talking  to  the  driver 
instead  of  looking  out  for  passengers.' 

"  Then  I  noticed  I  had  planted  my  para- 
sol down  on  the  toe  of  a  passenger  next  to 
me.     I  looked  at  its  owner  to  apologise. 


I50  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

"  It  was  Brown,  R.A.,  grinning  apprecia- 
tively at  my  sally  with  the  conductor.  I 
begged  his  pardon,  and  he  complimented  me 
on  the  way  I  had  got  in.  I  confided  my  am- 
bition was  to  get  out  when  the  'bus  was 
moving. 

"  '  Pray  don't,'  he  said,  quite  earnestly, 
*  you  might  come  on  your  nose,  and  that 
would  be  a  pity.' 

"  He  then  feared  he  had  kept  me  in  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  as  afterward  he  recalled 
that  I  was  dressed  for  walking,  which  gave 
me  the  opportunity  of  delicately  insinuating 
I  had  not  known  at  the  time  I  was  entertain- 
ing an  Academician  unawares.  But  he  as- 
sured me  he  had  never  enjoyed  a  conversa- 
tion so  much  in  his  life,  and  during  the  drive 
— for  he,  too,  had  to  go  in  the  City — begged 
permission  to  paint  me. 

"  He  says  it  isn't  often  that  he  got  the 
chance  of  painting  the  true  Titian  colouring. 

"  '  You  shall  have  the  first  study  when  it's 


A   LETTER   FROM    BOHEMIA.  151 

done,'  he  added,  for  I  had  to  demur  a  little 
not  to  appear  too  anxious. 

"  Only  two  weeks  to  August,  and  then  the 
holidays.  Ever  yours, 

"  Olivia. 

"  P.S. — Tell  William  my  hair  isn't  red,  it's 
Titian." 

"  Fancy  telling  an  R.A.  to  go  to  a  School 
of  Art.  Olivia's  got  no  tact,"  said  Belinda; 
"  and  I've  had  no  breakfast." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

HOW    JACK    CAME    OF    AGE. 

Olivia  arrived  early  on  the  morning  of 
Jack's  birthday.  So  early,  indeed,  that  the 
hero  of  the  occasion  had  not  risen.  After 
well  rattling  the. handle  of  his  locked  door, 
she  seated  herself  beside  his  hot-water  can  in 
the  passage  and  commenced  to  remonstrate 
loudly  with  him  on  his  habits  of  late  rising. 

Jack  mistook  her  for  Belinda,  who,  the 
soul  of  punctuality  herself,  generally  called 
each  member  of  the  household  on  her  own 
account. 

Our  voices  were  all  much  alike;  so  simi- 
lar, indeed,  that  Belinda  once  obtained  pos- 
session of  some  facts  I  particularly  desired  to 

withhold  by  speaking  disparagingly  of  herself 
152 


HOW  JACK  CAME   OF   AGE.  153 

in  the  third  person  from  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  when  I  was  engaged  in  a  room  above. 
Olivia  recalled  this  incident,  and,  thinking  to 
arouse  Jack's  sympathy  and  hasten  his  toilet, 
acted  on  the  recollection. 

"  There's  poor  Olivia,"  she  screamed, 
"  she'll  be  hurrying  down  early,  and  find  no 
breakfast  ready!  " 

"  Not  she,"  responded  Jack  sleepily. 
"  Olivia's  not  the  sort  of  old  bird  to  be  caught 
with  the  chaff  of  early  rising.  She  won't 
start  without  her  breakfast!  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  got  up  at  half-past  six, 
and  walked  all  the  way,  if  I'd  known  you  were 
going  to  come  of  age  in  bed,"  returned  a 
voice  whose  tone  of  martyrdom,  streaked 
with  asperity,  was  peculiarly  Olivia's  own. 

Jack,  hearing  his  mistake,  and  not  pos- 
sessing any  natural  quickness  for  extricating 
himself  from  unpleasant  dilemmas,  was  silent. 

Olivia  descended  to  the  kitchen  to  say  she 
would  faint  from  sheer  exhaustion  if  break- 


154  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

fast  was  not  on  the  table  within  five  minutes. 
Mary  considered  it  a  breach  of  birthday  eti- 
quette to  commence  without  the  person 
whose  appearance  into  the  world  was  being 
celebrated,  so  she  compromised  matters  by 
bringing  Olivia  a  strong  cup  of  tea  from  her 
own  teapot. 

Jack  was  immensely  pleased  with  his  pres- 
ents. Olivia  had  brought  him  a  book,  a  nice 
book,  handsomely  bound,  called  The  Influence 
of  Politics  on  Greek  Art.  Jack  thanked  her 
warmly. 

"  But  what  are  all  these  pencil-marks?  " 
he  inquired,  turning  the  leaves.  "  *  One — 
one — two — two,  quote  345.'  It  looks  al- 
most as  if  it  had  belonged  to  somebody?  " 

Olivia  blushed. 

''  Oh,  those?  Those  are  particular  bits 
that  seemed  worthy  of  careful  notice.  I — I 
fancied  you  might  like  to  learn  them  by 
heart." 

Jack    said    he   would — when    three    Sun- 


HOW  JACK  CAME   OF   AGE.  155 

days  came  in  a  week — and  turned  to  un- 
wrap his  next  present.  Olivia  whispered 
to  me: 

"  I  meant  to  rub  them  out — they  are  the 
Poet's  marks.  He  had  the  book  sent  for  re- 
view and  asked  me  if  I'd  accept  it,  as  he  found 
he  couldn't  spare  me  more  than  four  after- 
noons a  week  to  go  out  and  look  for  a  present 
for  Jack.  He  said,"  continued  Olivia,  relaps- 
ing into  a  loud  tone  of  indignation,  "  he'd 
never  heard  of  anyone  taking  so  long  to  come 
of  age  in  his  Hfe." 

Belinda  gave  a  large  bottle  of  lavender 
water,  with  which  Jack  was  delighted. 

"  It's  a  ripping  idea  of  yours,  Belinda,  to 
give  what  is  even  more  useful  to  the  donor 
than  the  recipient.  I  shall  give  you  a  pipe  on 
your  birthday." 

My  gift  took  the  form  of  a  pair  of  em- 
broidered slippers. 

"  Oh,    thank    you,    Maria!    just    what    I 

wanted,  they'll  be  so  comfortable  to  put  on  of 
ji 


156  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

an  evening;  but  why  did  you  choose  such  an 
ecclesiastical-looking  design?  " 

"  It  was  one  I  had  by  me — but  try  them 
on,  Jack." 

They  fitted  very  well — a  fortunate  acci- 
dent, seeing  I  had  originally  intended  them 
for  Theophilus,  who  had  distinctly  declined 
to  allow  that  they  fitted  him,  being  in  fact  a 
couple  of  sizes  too  small.  There  was  no  need 
to  tell  Jack  this,  but  it  fell  out  that  the  Vicar 
came  in  directly  breakfast  was  over,  bring- 
ing with  him  a  nice  set  of  paint-brushes.  He 
had  evidently  prepared  a  pleasant  brotherly- 
in-law  little  speech  to  accompany  them,  but 
taken  by  surprise  he  forgot  it  and  blurted 
out: 

"Why,  you've-  got  my  shoes  on.  Jack!" 

Jack  was  naturally  indignant. 

"Your  shoes,  I  Hke  that!  Why,  Maria 
has  just  given  them  to  me — worked  them 
on  purpose  for  my  birthday;  besides,  you 
couldn't  get  into  them." 


HOW  JACK  CAME   OF  AGE.  157 

"  That's  so,"  replied  the  owner  of  the 
clerical  feet.  "  But  I  understood  Maria  to 
say  she  was  going  to  enlarge  them." 

I  heard  William,  ever  obvious,  murmur- 
ing behind  me,  "  She's  put  her  shoe  in  it 
this  time,"  when  Pamela  hastily  drew  Jack's 
attention  to  the  brushes,  and  Olivia  drew  the 
Vicar's  attention  to  herself. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  since,"  she  be- 
gan, vaguely  gracious — Olivia  could  be 
very  gracious — "  but  I  may  congratulate 
you,  mayn't  I,  though  I  am  Maria's  sister? 
I  have  known  her  every  day  for  nineteen 
years,  nineteen  long  years,  and  I  assure 
you  she  would  be  a  treasure  to  any  house- 
hold." 

And  then  Belinda,  whose  mind  was  run- 
ning on  summer  sales  of  haberdashery, 
chimed  in  with: 

"  I  consider  Maria  quite  a  bargain,  my- 
self." 

Theophilus,   touched  by  this   display   of 


158  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

sisterly  appreciation,  forgot  all  about  the 
shoes. 

William  gave  his  brother  a  packet  of  some 
tobacco  they  both  held  in  high  esteem,  and 
a  cigar.     The  latter,  he  said,  had  a  history. 

"  Uncle  left  it  behind  him  in  the  agitation 
of  parting,  so  I  can't  take  any  credit  for  its 
flavour — 'twas  not  my  choice — but  for  not 
smoking  it,  I  deserve  great  praise.  Why, 
without  even  being  lighted  it  burnt  a  hole  in 
my  pocket!  " 

Jack  quite  understood  this,  and  to  save 
William  the  pain  of  practising  any  further 
self-denial,  lit  the  cigar  at  that  moment,  only 
pausing  to  press  William  to  fill  up  his  pipe 
from  the  new  tobacco.  William  had  a  whole 
holiday.  We  had  begged  him  to  ask  for  it, 
but  to  make  sure  of  there  being  no  refusal  and 
consequent  ill-feeling  between  him  and  his 
employer,  he  took  the  holiday  first  and  asked 
for  it  afterward.  His  plan,  he  explained, 
was  a  sort  of  insurance  against  disappoint- 


HOW  JACK   CAME   OF  AGE.  159 

ment,  the  only  drawback  to  the  day's  enjoy- 
ment occurring  on  the  following  morning, 

Pamela  presented  Jack  with  one  of  her 
new  photos,  in  which  she  looked  quite  lovely, 
inserted  in  a  home-made  frame,  together  with 
some  toffee,  also  home-made.  Of  the  two, 
Jack,  always  critical,  thought  the  toffee  was 
the  better  made.  Mary  begged  him  to  ac- 
cept a  set  of  fine  steel  knitting-needles. 

"  My  respectful  compliments  to  Master 
Jack,  and  I  do  'ope,  now  'e's  come  of  age  and 
is  a  gentleman  grown,  so  to  speak,  'e'U  leave 
off  borrowin'  the  kitchen  skewers  to  clean  his 
pipes  with." 

The  second  post  arriving  at  ten,  brought 
a  small  parcel  from  Uncle  Joshua.  It  turned 
out  to  be  a  box  containing  a  set  of  studs. 
Jack  proudly  pronounced  them  gold;  but 
Belinda,  comparing  the  current  value  of  that 
precious  metal  with  Uncle's  income,  which 
she  had  assessed — without  authority — at  a 
few   hundreds   a  year,   derided   this   notion. 


l6o  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

However,  Jack  stuck  to  his  opinion,  though 
to  convince  Belinda  he  determined  to  find 
out  whether  he  was  right. 

"  How?  "  queried  Pamela,  whose  imagi- 
nation had  flown  to  some  dangerous  chemical 
experiment  and  a  possible  explosion. 

"  Oh,  there  are  ways  and  means,"  re- 
turned Jack  significantly. 

"  You  might  ask  your  Uncle,"  suggested 
William. 

Olivia  snubbed  him  for  his  want  of  man- 
ners. 

"  You'll  be  inviting  us  to  write  and  ask 
how  much  they  cost  next!  " 

But  William,  unabashed,  complained  that 
we  had  mistaken  his  meaning.  He  alluded 
to  another  relative,  not  Joshua. 

Olivia's  absence  from  home  may  have  ac- 
counted for  her  forgetting  how  William 
roasted  this  ancient  chestnut  on  every  oppor- 
tunity. 

The  boys   said   they   had   a   surprise   for 


HOW  JACK   CAME   OF  AGE.  i6l 

US,  to  take  place  at  noon  punctually,  so  we 
separated  to  perform  a  few  domestic  duties 
necessary  to  the  comfort  of  even  our  casually 
managed  household.  The  Vicar  too  left, 
promising  to  return  in  time  to  be  surprised 
at  the  appointed  hour. 

The  first  indication  of  anything  unusual 
was  a  sudden  strange  and  uneven  bumping 
noise  upon  the  stair.  We  hurriedly  assem- 
bled to  inquire  into  the  cause,  and  beheld 
William.  He  had  attired  himself  after  the 
manner  of  a  sandwich-man,  and  the  bumping 
proceeded  from  the  ironing-board  which  dec- 
orated his  back  coming  into  frequent  contact 
with  the  stairs.  A  drawing-board  hung  from 
his  neck  in  front  by  a  piece  of  string,  and 
both  boards  announced  in  bold  letters — a 
trifle  smudged  from  having  been  drawn  with 
charcoal — that  Jack  would  hold  a  Private 
View  in  his  painting-room  that  morning, 
precisely  at  noon.  With  one  "hand  William 
gave  us  each  a  card  of  admission,  illustrated 


l62  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

with  a  portrait  of  the  artist  by  himself, 
and  with  the  other  he  rang  the  dinner-bell. 
To  ring  a  bell  is  not  dramatically  correct 
for  a  sandwich-man,  it  savours  more  of 
a  town-crier,  but  it  was  effective — and 
noisy. 

The  artis.t  came  out  of  his  studio  to  wit- 
ness the  impression  made  by  his  advertise- 
ment, and  was  so  struck  by  what  the  sand- 
wich-man called  his  total  ensemble,  that  he 
begged  him  to  remain  a  moment  upon  the 
stairs  whilst  he  rapidly  sketched  a  memento 
of  the  scene. 

It  seemed  a  pity  that  no  one  outside  the 
family  should  enjoy  the  spectacle  William 
presented,  so  we  suggested  that  he  should 
walk  down  the  road  and  show  himself  to  our 
neighbours.  He  fell  in  readily  with  the  idea, 
and  would  have  carried  it  out  had  he  not  met 
Theophilus  at  the  gate. 

The  Vicar  surveyed  the  carmined  nose, 
battered   hat,   and   ragged   garments   of   his 


HOW  JACK  CAME   OF   AGE.  163 

future  brother-in-law  for  some  moments  in 
silence. 

*'  Well,  you  are  rather  a  surprise,"  he  be- 
gan at  length,  trying  to  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  the  joke — rather  a  lame  attempt,  for  The- 
ophilus  seemed  ever  to  have  grown  up  re- 
membering he  was  an  only  child  and  an 
orphan. 

"  You  see,  it's  a  pity  to  waste  this  get-up 
on  the  desert  air  of  the  family,"  explained 
the  sandwich-man,  "  so  I'm  just  going  to 
surprise  the  neighbourhood.  What  can  I 
cry  out? — they  won't  take  any  interest  in 
Jack's  private  view;  hasn't  anything  been 
lost  in  the  parish  lately,  Kittiwake?  " 

Theophilus  had  gradually  edged  William 
back  into  the  hall.  He  then  closed  the  front 
door  and  set  his  back  against  it. 

"  The  only  thing  I  know,  William,  in 
danger  of  getting  lost  is  your  reputation  for 
sanity,  which,  as  Vicar  of  the  parish,  it's 
plainly  my  duty  to  prevent  happening." 


164  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

After  some  demur  the  discussion  ended 
by  the  sandwish-man  preceding  the  cleric  up- 
stairs, the  latter  holding  up  the  ironing-board 
as  if  it  were  a  train. 

Jack  had  divided  his  drawings  into  three 
classes:  (i)  Reproductions  of  those  which 
had  been  published  hung  on  one  wall;  they 
were  not  so  many  as  we  could  have  wished, 
but  still  they  testified  to  a  certain  amount  of 
success  and  a  decided  improvement  in  his 
work.  (2)  A  few,  arranged  on  the  table, 
upon  which  he  was  still  engaged.  (3)  Cari- 
catures, mostly  grossly  personal,  covered 
every  available  space  vacant  in  the  room, 
Belinda,  who  liked  a  finger  in  whatever  pie 
was  going,  had  added  a  few  of  her  black-and- 
white  fashion  illustrations. 

"  I'm  surprised  at  Belinda  making  pub- 
lic such  articles  of  attire,"  observed  Olivia, 
casting  a  severe  eye  on  the  drawing 
of  a  much  frilled  silk  petticoat.  "  Of 
course  in  the  Academy  one  expects  some- 


HOW  JACK   CAME   OF  AGE.  165 

thing — not — not  quite — but  at  a  Private 
View " 

"  Oh,  we  haven't  asked  Mrs.  Grundy, 
Olivia! "  cried  Jack  Hghtly,  but  BeHnda 
maintained  that  we  had. 

"  Theophilus  is  our  Mrs.  Grundy,"  she  re- 
marked loud  enough  for  him  to  hear.  In- 
deed, between  Belinda's  sketches  which  he 
did  not  like  to  look  at  on  the  one  hand,  and 
the  caricatures  of  himself  which  he  pretended 
not  to  see  on  the  other,  the  Vicar,  I  feared, 
passed  an  uncomfortable  hour. 

Then  William  rang  the  dinner-bell  and 
gave  out  that  there  would  be  a  private  auc- 
tion of  a  few  of  Jack's  sketches  held  that  even- 
ing in  the  garden,  to  be  preceded  by  an  enter- 
tainment to  begin  at  eight. 

To  occupy  the  afternoon  we  had  arranged 
some  bicycle  races.  Racing  was  technically 
illegal  on  the  Queen's  highway;  but  in  the 
quiet  corner  where  we  lived  it  was  scarcely  a 
highway,  for  there  was  only  one  opening  to 


1 66  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

Triangle  Lawn,  and  the  traffic  therefore  re- 
stricted to  a  few  vehicles  having  immediate 
business  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  boys 
had  their  bicycles,  and  hired  two  ladies'  ma- 
chines as  near  alike  in  weight  as  possible. 

Olivia  decided  not  to  race,  getting  up  so 
early  had  taken  the  necessary  energy  out  of 
her;  and  as  Pamela  invariably  got  off  her 
machine  if  she  saw  a  dog  or  a  cat  in  case  she 
should  run  over  it,  and  also  when  any  vehicle 
came  in  view  in  case  it  should  run  over  her, 
she  too  concluded  not  to  enter  the  lists. 

The  course  was  once  round  the  triangle; 
the  road  being  narrow,  we  decided  not  to  ride 
more  than  two  abreast  at  a  time;  the  start- 
ing point  and  winning  post  were  exactly  op- 
posite our  own  door,  Olivia  being  umpire. 

Jack  hung  back  a  little  as  the  time  to  start 
drew  near,  and  wondered  what  people  would 
say;  so  to  encourage  him  Belinda  and  I 
opened  the  races.  She  insisted  on  having 
the  right-hand   side   of  the   road,   to   which 


HOW   JACK   CAME   OF  AGE.  167 

alone  I  attributed  the  fact  that  she  won. 
Then  the  boys,  William  with  the  air  of  a  pro- 
fessional scorcher,  and  Jack  trying  hard  to 
appear  as  if  setting  forth  for  an  ordinary  ride, 
went  round  and  were  back  before  we  consid- 
ered them  well  started.  The  latter  believed 
he  would  have  won,  had  he  not  been  obliged 
to  ride  uphill  over  his  brother's  hat,  which 
had  blown  off  and  fallen  in  his  path. 

"  Then  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  hadn't,"  re- 
torted William,  looking  ruefully  at  his  head- 
gear. "  My  hat  goes  down-hill  now  in  the 
wrong  place." 

Then  Jack  raced  me,  returning  an  easy 
victor;  but  against  Belinda  he  lost  by  a 
couple  of  yards.  I,  a  little  dispirited  by  two 
failures,  suggested  that  William  should  be 
handicapped  for  my  last  race.  He  gave  me 
half  the  course,  hoping  it  would  be  enough — 
it  wasn't,  as  was  proved  by  my  failing  to  win. 
This  sort  of  handicap  doesn't  really  count: 
the  fear  of  breaking  one's  nose  is  a  real  useful 


l68  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

handicap,  especially  if  it  is  a  nice  nose; 
though  with  William's  sort,  even  this 
wouldn't  prove  an  obstacle. 

By  the  time  the  last  race — between  Be- 
linda and  William — was  imminent,  quite  a 
crowd  had  collected;  the  inhabitants  gathered 
at  their  windows,  and  betting  ran  high  among 
loitering  errand-boys.  Our  baker's  boy,  in 
a  friendly  spirit,  stood  near  the  one  opening 
to  warn  any  approaching  vehicle  not  to  spoil 
the  fun.  Belinda  disdained  the  offer  of  a 
handicap.  Just  as  they  were  about  to  start 
the  Colonel  appeared,  carrying  a  lovely  box 
of  French  sweets.  He  had  understood  it  was 
Pamela's  birthday;  on  finding  it  was  Jack's, 
he  feared  the  sweets  might  not  prove  so  ac- 
ceptable. So  we  told  him  how  we  were 
spending  the  afternoon  and  suggested  the 
sweets  should  be  given  as  a  prize,  an  item  we 
had  entirely  overlooked;  though  Pamela  did 
say  later  that  she,  personally,  thought  it 
would  have  been  in  far  better  taste  not  to  tell 


HOW  JACK  CAME   OF  AGE.  169 

the  Colonel  of  his  mistake,  but  let  him  con- 
tinue to  think  it  was  her  birthday. 

Olivia  gave  the  signal  to  start.  Belinda 
came  in  a  smiling  first,  for  William,  so  great 
was  his  self-assurance,  had  stopped  midway 
and  got  off  to  speak  to  an  acquaintance, 
which  self-conceit  lost  him  the  victory;  but 
then  William  had  no  taste  for  bonbons.  Be- 
linda received  them  graciously  from  the  Col- 
onel, who  made  quite  a  neat  little  speech 
about  the  new  woman  riding  a  bicycle  and 
the  pleasure  of  an  old  man  giving  the  prize. 
Then  Jack  took  the  Colonel,  up  to  see  the 
Private  View,  and  the  old  gentleman,  being 
a  little  short-sighted,  picked  up  some  carica- 
tures of  himself  before  w^e  had  time  to  hide 
them,  and  mistook  them  for  skits  on  a  certain 
military  neighbour  with  whom  he  was  not  on 
the  best  of  terms,  and  enjoyed  the  joke  im- 
mensely. So  did  we.  The  Colonel  stayed 
to  tea  and  went  home  in  an  excellent  temper. 

Directly  after  supper  we  went  into  the 


I70  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

garden,  where  the  entertainment  was  to  take 
place,  the  conclusion  of  the  day's  pleasure. 
Mary  was  accommodated  with  a  chair,  but 
she  preferred  to  stand  near  the  scullery  door 
which  opened  on  to  the  garden;  at  intervals 
she  dived  into  the  kitchen,  returning  with  a 
damp  plate,  which  she  dried  whilst  watching 
the  performance. 

Belinda  led  ofif  with  a  skirt  dance,  draped 
in  a  remnant  of  some  light  accordion-pleated 
material  she  had  purchased  at  a  July  sale. 
Not  having  had  time  to  fashion  it  into  shape, 
she  pinned  it  gracefully  over  her  ordinary  cos- 
tume. The  exercise  of  dancing  became  the 
undoing  of  the  pins.  WilHam  thought  an 
"  Odds  and  Ends  Dance  "  would  have  been 
an  appropriate  title  for  this  item  of  the  pro- 
gramme. Belinda  had  an  encore,  principally 
because  Olivia,  who  had  sat  indoors  to  play 
the  dance  music,  insisted  upon  coming  out  to 
see  whilst  I  played  the  piano. 

Then  Pamela  sang  a  negro  melody  with 


HOW  JACK  CAME  OF   AGE.  171 

guitar  accompaniment,  and  we  all  joined 
heartily  in  the  chorus.  It  takes  all  sorts  to 
make  a  world;  but  the  people  next  door 
struck  us  as  a  strange  sort  to  sit  in  the  house 
on  a  hot  evening  with  every  window  aggres- 
sively shut  fast. 

Olivia  next  gave  us  a  recitation.  Find- 
ing it  impossible  to  recite  on  a  level  with  the 
audience,  she  begged  William  to  erect  a  plat- 
form out  of  the  ironing-board  supported  on 
two  chairs.     Mounting  this,  she  announced: 

"  The  title  of  the  recitation  I  am  about 
to  give  you  is,  '  The  Index-Haunted  Man,' 
by  that  well-known  authoress,  Miss  Olivia 
Chilcott." 

"  Hear,  hear,"  cried  Jack,  feebly  as  a  cock 
who,  waked  in  the  night,  crows  mistaking  the 
moonlight  for  morning;  but  William  was  not 
so  encouraging. 

"  Haven't  you  got  over  that  index  yet?  " 
he  groaned.  But  Olivia,  unheeding,  repeat- 
ed her  title  and  commenced: 

13 


1-72  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  I  am  a  private  secretary. 
My  age  is  twenty-four ; 
It  only  varies  by  a  shade, 
A  little  less  than  more " 


"  Why,  you're  only  nineteen,"  I  expostu- 
lated; "  nineteen  from  twenty-four  leaves 
five — you  can't  call  five  a  shade?  " 

"  It's  colouring  the  truth,"  explained  the 
recitress,  "  so  it  must  be  a  shade. 

"  I  always  knew  my  alphabet, 
But  now  I  never  can 
Forget  it  for  a  moment, 

I'm  an  index-haunted  man." 

Seeing  the  exigencies  of  rhyme  demanded 
change  of  sex  for  the  time  being,  we  let  this 
pass  uncontradicted. 

"  I  do  not  live  by  rule  of  thumb, 
Nor  yet  by  rule  of  three  ; 
^  I  Hve,  oh,  much  against  my  will, 

By  rule  of  A  B  C. 

"When,  rising  in  the  morning, 
I  hear  the  clock  strike  eight, 
I  know  that  eight  comes  under  E, 
And  L  is  right  for  late." 


HOW   JACK   CAME   OF   AGE.  173 

"  You  weren't  late  this  morning  for  a 
wonder,"  interrupted  Belinda. 

"  Indeed,  I  came  too  early,"  agreed  Oliv- 
ia, looking  meaningly  at  Jack,  "  but  you 
must  not  interrupt. 

"  And  Jack  of  course  goes  under  J, 
Pamela  under  P, 
Though  how  I'd  like  occasionally 
To  put  her  under  D." 

"  Why,"  asked  Pamela  discontentedly, 
"  why  should  you  wish  to  put  me  under  D?  " 

"  It's  D with  a  dash  after  it,"  ex- 
plained Olivia,  "  and  it's  generally  when  you 
take  my  button-hook  and  forget  to  put  it 
back." 

Pamela  begged  her  not  to  enter  into 
details,  but  to  proceed.  I  felt  glad, 
on  the  whole,  that  Theophilus  had  pleaded 
want  of  time  for  not  joining  us  that 
evening. 

But  Olivia  had  not  written  any  more,  so 
the  recitation  ended  abruptly;  at  some  future 


174  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

time  she  promised  to  recite  it  again,  with  a 
termination. 

Then  the  auction  of  Jack's  drawings  took 
place,  WilHam  was  the  auctioneer,  using 
the  coal-hammer  with  quite  a  professional 
ability,  and  assuming  a  manner  of  jocularity 
tempered  with  importance  orthodox  to  the 
occasion. 

Jack  consented  to  take  payment  in  kind 
for  his  sketches.  Thus,  a  fine  caricature  of 
the  Colonel  measuring  the  width  of  his  bed 
with  a  ruler  and  comparing  it  with  his  own 
shoulders  was  handed  over  to  Belinda  in  ex- 
change for  an  old  penknife.  Jack,  on  receiv- 
ing this  token  of  barter,  exclaimed  -that  he 
had  often  wondered  where  that  knife  was, 
and  asked  Belinda  where  she  had  found  it. 

"  If  you  are  all  going  to  give  me  back 
things  you've  borrowed  and  forgotten  to  re- 
turn," said  he,  "  I  don't  see  where  the  fun 
of  this  show  comes  in!  " 

William  insisted  that  the  knife  was  a  fair 


HOW  JACK   CAME   OF  AGE.  175 

exchange  for  the  Colonel,  but  the  artist  con- 
sidered it  simply  throwing  the  British  Army 
away. 

"  To  borrow  one's  knife  and  then  return 
it  when  it's  too  blunt  to  use  is " 

"  Exchange  is  no  robbery,"  broke  in  the 
auctioneer  rudely.  "  We  now  come  to  Lot 
2.  What  may  I  say  for  them — a  nice  little 
lot?  " 

Olivia  bid  some  postage-stamps  which 
had  Iain  fallow  in  her  purse  ever  since  the 
Poet  had  extended  his  hospitality  to  franking 
her  letters.  The  sketches  were  illustrations 
of  her  last  letter,  which  Jack  had  sketched  on 
reading  the  same:  they  represented  the  inci- 
dent of  Olivia  jumping  into  the  'bus  and  fall- 
ing short  of  her  destination. 

"  Which  I  forgive  on  account  of  its  being 
so  clever,"  said  our  Bohemian,  handing  over 
the  stamps  as  if  they  were  waste  paper. 

I  wanted  Lot  3,  a  certain  set  of  drawings 
mainly  devoted  to  showing  off  various  char- 


176  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

acteristics  of  the  Vicar;  but  not  wishing  to 
part  with  any  of  my  own  goods  in  exchange, 
I  volunteered  a  promise  not  to  dust  Jack's 
painting-room  for  a  fortnight.  He  was  satis- 
fied, but  William  demurred. 

"  Promises,"  he  said,  with  his  usual  want 
of  originality,  "  have  been  known  to  be  made 
of  pie-crust.  I  grant  you  Maria's  crust  is 
substantial,  still  it  is  the  rule  at  sales  to  place 
some  deposit  with  the  auctioneer  as  a  guar- 
antee of  good  faith  and  security  against  leav- 
ing the  article  on  his  hands." 

So  I  fetched  my  best  duster  and  laid  it 
on  the  platform. 

"  These  sketches,"  then  cried  the  auction- 
eer, "  are  now  the  property  of  Maria.  The 
artist  has  exchanged  them  for  an  accumula- 
tion of  dust  upon  his  private  premises.  The 
lady  has  a  personal  interest  in  the  subject  of 
the  drawings,  which  makes  them  valuable — 
to  her  only.  From  the  point  of  view  of  an 
Art  auctioneer,  I  should  say  they  were  not 


HOW  JACK   CAME  OF  AGE.  177 

only  rough  sketches  of,  but  also  rough 
sketches  on,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Kittiwake  of  this 
parish." 

Mary  had  no  taste  in  caricature;  she  ex- 
changed a  promise  to  make  a  particular  kind 
of  cake  for  a  small  pen-and-ink  drawing  of 
Pamela  she  had  long  coveted. 

Jack's  studio  was  much  reduced  in  card- 
board and  his  collection  of  miscellaneous 
odds  and  ends  greatly  increased  by  the  auc- 
tion. 

About  half-past  ten  Olivia  asked  William 
if  he  was  ready. 

"  What  for? "  queried  he  in  reply. 
"  Haven't  I  done  enough  for  one  day?  " 

Jack  assured  him  that  he  had. 

"  Indeed,  one  would  think,  from  the  way 
you've  been  going  on,  it  was  your  birthday, 
and  not  mine." 

Olivia  had  understood  William  to  have 
promised  to  see  her  back  to  Bohemia,  but  it 
seemed  a  surprise,  almost  a  shock,  to  William 


XyS  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

to  find  this  was  expected  of  him.  He  stipu- 
lated that  they  should  wait  for  refreshment, 
and  they  delayed  to  partake  of  ginger-beer 
and  fruit,  only  catching  the  last  train.  Wil- 
liam had  to  walk  back  the  four  miles  which 
intervened  between  the  Poet's  house  and 
ours. 

Theophilus  told  us  that,  what  with  the 
bicycle  races,  the  entertainment  in  the  gar- 
den, and  WilHam  being  caught  by  the  po- 
liceman in  the  act  of  getting  through  the 
drawing-room  window  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning  because  we  had  bolted  the  door, 
forgetting  his  absence,  we  had  become  the 
talk  of  the  parish. 

William,  in  excuse,  said  if  a  man  mayn't 
be  his  own  burglar,  what  may  he  be?  But 
the  Vicar  was  really  vexed,  especially  as  he 
had  to  delay  announcing  our  engagement  to 
his  parishioners  for  a  fortnight  to  allow  the 
scandal  to  subside.  He  begged  us  to  be  a 
trifle  more  ordinary — a  little  less  original  in 


HOW  JACK  CAME  OF  AGE.  179 

our  behaviour — which  advice  I  impressed 
upon  my  relatives.  Especially  did  I  urge 
Belinda  to  take  some  flaunting  scarlet  pop- 
pies out  of  her  hat  and  replace  them  with 
flowers  of  a  more  sober  hue.  She  complied 
with  reluctance,  substituting  grey  thistles,  as 
an  outward  and  visible  sign  that  her  con- 
science was  pricking  her  within.  Grey  not 
becoming  her  as  well  as  scarlet  added  a  bit- 
terness to  her  criticisms  on  life  in  general, 
and  life  in  the  suburbs  in  particular. 

After  Jack  came  of  age  we  sat  in  the 
drawing-room  every  afternoon  from  four  to 
six,  and  took  in  The  Quiver,  placing  it  in  a 
conspicuous  position  to  catch  the  eye  of  pos- 
sible callers. 


CHAPTER    X. 

WE    GO    TO    AMBULANCE    CLASSES. 

"  You'll  be  surprised  to  hear,"  began 
Pamela,  with  a  pretty  deprecatory  air  as  we 
sat  talking  together  the  following  Sunday 
evening,  "  that  after  all  I'm  not  going  on  the 
Stage." 

William  winked  himself  a  congratulatory 
wink  behind  The  Pelican,  his  favourite  week- 
ly, on  the  success  of  his  non-opposition  sys- 
tem.    Aloud  he  feigned  disappointment. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  Pamela,  as  I 
hoped  through  your  influence  to  be  given  a 
free  seat  occasionally." 

"  Paper,"  corrected  Olivia  technically, 
"  not  free,  William.  Unpaid  places  are  al- 
ways called  paper  in  the  profession." 

l8o 


WE   GO   TO   AMBULANCE   CLASSES.        l8l 

"  Oh,  if  the  free  seats  are  made  of  paper," 
rejoined  WilHam,  "  I  haven't  lost  much;  for, 
taking  my  weight  into  consideration,  I  should 
have  seen  most  of  the  play  from  the  floor." 

Olivia  scorned  further  explanation. 

"  I'm  sorry,  William,"  sighed  Pamela; 
"  but,  you  see,  I  want  to  do  some  good  in  the 
world,  and  the  Stage,  you  know,  is — is  mere 
play." 

William  assented. 

"  Sheer  tomfoolery,  I  call  it — anyone 
could  do  Irving's  part  at  the  Lyceum.  I'm 
sure  I  could  with  a  little  practice.  So  I'm 
going  to  be  a  hospital  nurse,"  continued 
Pamela  solemnly. 

"What!"  cried  Belinda,  laying  down 
the  book  she  was  reading.  "  Well,  you 
won't  see  much  of  me,  I  can  tell  you,  if  you're 
going  into  that  nasty  profession.  I'm  not 
going  to  catch  a  fever  and  be  sacrificed  to  a 
fashionable  fad " 

Here  Pamela  expressed  some  doubt  as  to 


1 82  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

whether  she  should  be  so  anxious  to  see 
much  of  BeHnda.  On  the  whole  she  thought 
not. 

"  And  if  you  do  catch  small-pox,"  said  I 
cheerfully,  "  why  it'll  be  in  a  good  cause, 
won't  it?  " 

"  We  should  always  take  it  on  trust  that 
you  were  really  our  sister,"  added  Jack,  "  for 
of  course  if  it  were  only  chicken-pox  you'd 
look  a  bit  different  from  what  you  do  now." 

Pamela  rose  from  the  hearthrug,  where 
she  had  been  seated,  with  as  much  dignity  as 
a  sharp  attack  of  pins-and-needles  in  one  foot 
would  allow. 

"  I've  written  to  all  the  principal  hospi- 
tals in  London,  and  asked  them  to  send  me 
particulars.  I  hadn't  posted  the  letters  be- 
cause I  thought  it  right  to  tell  you  my  plans 
first;  but  I  shall  take  them  to  the  pillar-box 
now,  this  minute!  " 

Which  resolve  she  carried  out  immedi- 
ately. 


WE  GO   TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.        183 

When  the  answers  came  Pamela  found 
that  few  if  any  of  the  hospitals  would  take 
her  as  a  probationer  for  several  years  to  come. 

"  They  seem  to  consider  seventeen — near- 
ly eighteen — quite  young!  "  she  cried  indig- 
nantly, "  as  if  one  didn't  know  one's  own 
mind." 

"  It's  more  a  question  of  not  knowing 
one's  own  constitution,"  I  interrupted  sooth- 
ingly. "  However,  you  can  ask  them  to  put 
your  name  down  as  an  intending  probationer, 
and  there  are  lots  of  ways  to  pass  the  time 
between  this  and  the  date  you  enter.  Nurses 
should  always  be  able  to  cook  a  little,  make 
beef-tea  and  jelly,  and  learn  how  to  make  a 
poultice." 

"  But  I  can  cook — at  least,  I  can  make 
curries  and  ginger-bread — and  trim  hats,  and 
you  can  buy  poultices  ready-make  now,"  re- 
•plied  Pamela,  still  in  an  injured  voice;  "  I 
saw  them  at  the  Stores  the  other  day.  But, 
as  you  say,  Maria,  I  can  put  my  name  down 


l84  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

and  wait.  Don't  tell  the  others  it  will  be 
four  or  five  years  before  I  get  into  a  hospital. 
You're  the  only  one  who  has  any  sense  in  the 
family." 

The  Vicar  encouraged  Pamela  in  her  idea 
of  nursing.  He  gave  his  advice  with  more 
assurance  since  we  had  taken  it  in  the  matter 
of  handing  over  our  late  boarder's  baby  to 
the  care  of  a  motherly  woman  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  assured  us  that  having  some 
fixed  plan  for  the  future  not  immediately 
practicable  would  prevent  Pamela  from 
taking  up  some  occupation  hurriedly. 

"  She's  far  too  young  and  too  pretty  to 
go  out  into  the  world  alone,"  concluded  the 
Vicar. 

One  morning  he  came  in  to  tell  us  that 
the  chief  doctor  of  the  district,  a  great  friend 
of  his,  was  starting  some  lectures  on  First  Aid 
to  the  injured  in  connection  with  the  St. 
John's  Ambulance  Society,  and  advised  me 
to  attend  them — a  clergyman's  wife,  it  ap- 


WE   GO   TO   AMBULANCE  CLASSES.        185 

peared,  should  be  educated  on  the  plan  of  a 
Jack-of-all-trades — and  Pamela  by  also  at- 
tending could  lay  a  foundation  for  her  future 
career. 

That  was  how  we  came  to  know  Dr.  An- 
drew Macgregor. 

Belinda  refused  to  join  the  classes.  She 
had  a  great  dislike  to  illness,  not  from  per- 
sonal experience,  for  hers  was  a  pattern  con- 
stitution, but  from  some  innate  repulsion. 

"  I  shall  die,"  she  often  said,  "  easily 
enough  when  the  time  comes,  without  con- 
stantly rehearsing  beforehand." 

Olivia,  always  athirst  for  knowledge, 
would  doubtless  have  seized  the  opportunity 
had  she  not  accepted  the  invitation  of  the 
Poet  and  his  wife  to  go  with  them  on  an  ex- 
cursion to  Cornwall,  whence  she  wrote  to 
us,  much  about  sea  and  sky,  tenderly  hop- 
ing we  did  not  feel  the  August  heat  in  Lon- 
don. Belinda  after  reading  her  letters  re- 
marked that  Olivia  seemed  to  have  forgotten 


l86  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

that  the  Poet  had  included  the  typewriter 
in  the  invitation;  for  her  part,  travelling- 
with  a  machine  that  weighed  twenty-four 
pounds  and  was  liable  to  being  smashed 
when  roughly  handled,  would  have  taken 
the  gilt  off  the  gingerbread — otherwise  Corn- 
wall. 

So  through  the  hot  days  of  August,  Pa- 
mela and  I  studied  Anatomy.  We  com- 
menced by  learning  the  names  of  our  own 
bones,  of  which  we  had  hitherto  been  pro- 
foundly ignorant.  Pamela  complained  she 
could  never  remember  them  all;  she  seemed 
to  have  as  many  as  a  herring.  William 
feared  I  should  find  dilBculty  in  locating 
mine.  "  Maria,"  he  observed,  with  brother- 
ly candour,  "  is  so  very  well  upholstered." 

One  morning  the  Doctor  called  to  tell  us 
that  the  hour  of  the  Lecture  was  altered. 
Belinda  only  was  at  home,  and  promised  to 
give  us  his  message. 

"  I  almost  wish  I  had  joined  the  Classes," 


WE  GO   TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.        187 

she  added;  "  I  had  no  idea  compound  frac- 
ture was  so  interesting." 

"  Weil,  it's  much  too  late  to  commence 
now,"  interposed  Pamela  hastily.  "  You 
wouldn't  be  allowed  to  go  in  for  the  examina- 
tion— but  you  might  lend  us  your  foot  to 
bandage." 

"  I  can't  draw  with  you  tickling  my  foot,'* 
replied  Belinda;  "  but  if  you  take  the  oppor- 
tunity any  time  you  see  me  reading,  you're 
welcome." 

We  took  our  opportunity  that  same 
afternoon.  Belinda  was  so  engrossed 
with  her  novel,  that  she  never  looked  up 
until  we  had  finished.  She  was  proud  of 
her  foot;  it  took  a  three,  and  owned  an 
arched  instep.  She  also  held  the  theory 
that  the  truest  economy  is  always  to  buy 
the  best,  and  patronised  an  excellent  shoe- 
maker. 

We  called  upon  her  to  admire  the  band- 
aging. She  gazed  upon  her  supposititiously 
13 


1 88  BELINDA— AND   SOME    OTHERS. 

injured  limb  with  increasing  horror,  and 
grasped  my  arm  nervously. 

"  You  never  heard  of  gout  in  the  family, 
did  you,  Maria?  You're  the  eldest  and 
should  study  hereditary  tendencies.  Fancy, 
if  I  ever  had  a  foot  like  that — take  it  off!  oh, 
take  it  off!  It  makes  me  feel  sick  to  look 
at  it." 

Not  a  word  about  our  neat  bandaging. 

William  had  no  vanity.  He  lent  himself, 
corporally,  when  at  home  with  his  usual  large 
generosity.  When  he  was  out  we  made  shift 
with  Jack's  lay  figure,  for  in  constant  prac- 
tice lay  success.  After  the  third  Lecture  our 
knowledge  of  bandaging  was  extensive;  to 
keep  it  in  mind  whilst  we  turned  our  atten- 
tion to  fits,  bites,  burns,  &c.,  which  formed 
the  subjects  of  the  succeeding  Lectures,  we 
bandaged  William's  entire  frame  every  even- 
ing. It  was  a  long  and  rather  inelegant 
frame,  as  we  told  its  owner  as  he  lay  stretched 
upon  the  ever  useful  ironing-board;  but  he 


WE   GO  TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.        189 

heard  not  the  remark,  having  dropped  into  a 
peaceful  slumber. 

"  Here,  wake  up,"  cried  Pamela  rudely, 
"  and  apologise  for  only  having  one  head, 
when  we  are  both  weak  about  the  exact 
method  of  doing  dislocated  jaw-bones!  " 

"  You've  got  an  arm  each,  and  a  leg," 
grumbled  the  patient,  resentful  at  being 
awakened. 

"  You  can  have  his  head,  Pamela;  I  dare- 
say Theophilus  will  lend  me  his  to-morrow 
morning.  You  not  being  engaged  to  him, 
might  not  care  to  ask  for  the  loan." 

"  I  shouldn't,"  retorted  Pamela;  "  the 
brilliantine  Theophilus  uses  is  most  objec- 
tionable." 

I  let  this  libel  pass  uncontradicted,  being 
much  engaged  upon  a  fracture  of  William's 
forearm.  Now  and  again  we  dropped  a  choc- 
olate into  his  mouth  to  keep  him  contented. 
When  half  an  hour  had  gone  by,  there  was 
very  little  of  the  patient  unbandaged.     So  in- 


190 


BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 


teresting  did  he  look  from  a  surgical  point  of 
view,  that  we  begged  him  to  remain  quiet 
whilst  we  rested  and  admired  our  handi- 
work. 

As  we  sat  silent,  the  Vicar  walked  in 
through  the  open  door;  he  had  been  away 
on  his  holiday,  and  had  not  witnessed  our 
progress  in  applying  aid  to  the  injured. 

His  first  glance  was — properly — toward 
me.  It  was  a  nice  glance,  and  I  wished  the 
room  were  not  so  full  of  my  relations.  Then 
his  eye  fell  upon  William.  The  light  of  love 
died  out,  and  an  expression  of  concern  shad- 
owed his  countenance.  Making  a  step  for- 
ward, he  cried: 

"  William,  my  dear  boy,  an  accident — 
your  bicycle,  alas! " 

William  had  no  histrionic  ability.  The 
groan  he  gave  was  inartistic,  testifying  to  a 
healthy  and  uninjured  constitution.  No  bat- 
tered frame  could  have  emitted  a  groan  of 
such  strength  and  vigour.     Jack  burst  into 


WE   GO   TO   AMBULANCE   CLASSES.        191 

a  roar  of  laughter,  heedless  that  the  modern 
house  has  no  foundations. 

Then  William  arose,  stiffly,  for  our  work 
was  well  done,  and  started  a  hornpipe.  Be- 
linda caught  him  at  the  piano  with  a  jig  of 
her  own  composing.  The  bandages  became 
unfastened,  and  flew  round  and  round  in  wid- 
ening circles,  until  he  looked  like  a  windmill 
in  a  high  gale  decorated  with  ribbons.  The 
splints  fell  off  one  by  one  as  their  binding 
loosened.  Mary  came  in  to  ask  the  cause  of 
the  disturbance. 

"  Lor,  Master  William,  talk  about  an 
odds-and-ends  dance,  it's  better  than  Miss 
B'linda's!  " 

The  Vicar's  face  showed  some  trepidation 
that  our  late  proper  and  uninteresting  con- 
duct was  not  likely  to  endure. 

Writing  to  Uncle  Joshua  early  the  next 
morning,  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  would 
be  interested  to  hear  about  the  Ambulance 


ig2  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Lectures.  I  began  by  describing  the  Doc- 
tor. 

"  He  is  "  (I  wrote)  "  a  Scotchman — very 
tall  with  a  short  black  beard  and  a  sunburnt 
complexion.     His  name  is  Macgregor." 

On  reading  this  over  it  sounded  poor,  and 
conveyed  nothing  of  the  Doctor's  personal- 
ity. Perhaps  Belinda  could  supply  me  with 
a  descriptive  phrase  or  two.  She  had  of  late 
developed  a  contempt  for  the  jokes  that  had 
served  us  so  long  through  so  many  happy 
years,  and  developed  a  wit  of  her  own;  she 
might  hit  upon  an  epigram  to  describe  the 
Doctor.     I  went  to  find  her. 

"  How,"  I  began,  "  would  you  describe 
the  Doctor?" 

"  I  shouldn't  describe  him,"  she  answered 
irritably.  "  I  should  say  his  name  was  Mac- 
gregor; that  in  itself  describes  him." 

"  But  if  you  wanted  to  mention  his  chief 
characteristics,  for  instance?  " 

"  You  could  walk  on  his  accent  without 


WE   GO   TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.       193. 

falling  through,"  replied  the  fashion  artist, 
pushing  back  her  chaijf  and  looking  critically 
at  her  drawing. 

"  I  rather  like  the  way  the  ends  of  his  sen- 
tences go  uphill,  myself,"  I  hazarded. 

But  Belinda  didn't.  She  pronounced  it 
Edinburgh.  I  gather  from  her  further  re- 
marks that  an  accent  is  like  a  prophet — it  has 
no  honour  in  its  own  country. 

Then  I  tried  Jack,  who  said: 

"  The  Doctor — well,  he  smokes  ripping 
tobacco!  " 

Pamela  I  found  gazing  dreamily  out  of  an 
upstairs  window.  A  garment  that  required 
mending  lay  neglected  near  her.  My  query 
was  getting  a  little  stereotyped. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Doctor?  " 

Pamela  started,  and  blushed  a  vivid  crim- 
son. 

"  Think?  How  did  you  know  I  was 
thinking  of  the  Doctor,  Maria?  " 

I  did  not  until  she  had  herself  informed  me. 


194  BELINDA—AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

"  I'm  just  writing  to  Uncle,"  I  explained, 
"  and  I  can't  find  any  suitable  adjectives  to 
describe  the  Doctor.  This  sounds  poor." 
And  I  read  out  what  I  had  written. 

"  I  should  think  it  does,"  she  assented. 
"  Why,  you  haven't  said  half — you've  left  out 
his  eyes!  " 

"  What  about  them — does  he  squint?  " 

"  They're  a  lovely  clear  grey,  and  can  see 
through  and  through." 

"Through  what?" 

"  His  patients,  of  course." 

"  Well,  a  good  many  invalids  are  hum- 
bugs," I  admitted;  "but  not  all,  surely." 

"  I  meant  their  ailments,  of  course.  How 
silly  you  are  this  morning!  He  can  diag- 
nose at  a  glance,"  concluded  Pamela,  remem- 
bering the  correct  phrase  at  last. 

"  I  made  a  note  faintly  in  pencil  on  my 
letter: 

"  Doctor's  eyes — principle  of  new  pho- 
tography— sees  inside  out." 


WE   GO  TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.        195 

"  What  else?  "  I  inquired  aloud. 

"  Oh,  then  there's  his  figure.  Tell  Uncle 
how  athletic  he  is — he  used  to  be  in  the 
County  Eleven.  He's  so  strong,  yet  he's  so 
gentle.  Have  you  noticed,  Maria,  how  de- 
termined he  is  in  getting  his  own  way — yet  so 
quietly,  one  hardly  knows  one  has  given  in?  " 

Pamela  paused.  I  made  more  notes  on 
my  letter,  but  I  doubted  whether  Uncle 
would  be  interested.  I  could  imagine  him 
saying: 

"  I  suppose  the  man  gives  lectures  to  fill 
up  the  time  between  seeing  his  patients." 

"Thanks!  "  I  cried  at  last,  when  Pamela 
had  finished  enumerating  the  Doctor's  good 
points,  both  personal  and  professional,  "  that 
will  do  nicely;  now  I'll  leave  you  to  your 
mending." 

She  picked  up  the  garment  in  some  con- 
fusion, and  I  went  to  finish  my  letter.  But  it 
never  was  finished.  I  wrote  a  postcard  in- 
stead, saying  we  were  all  alive,  and  hoped 


196  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Uncle  was  the  same;  it  was  too  warm  to 
enter  into  details.  Nevertheless  I  spent  an 
hour  with  the  pen  in  my  hand,  idly  drawing 
on  the  blotting-paper;  and  sometimes  I  drew 
the  face  of  Pamela,  and  someftimes  the  face  of 
Andrew  Macgregor.  Pamela's  face  was  of 
the  type  that  conveys  the  impression  of  a 
heart  that  surrenders  at  once  where  it  loves — 
at  once,  freely,  and  for  ever.  Not  like  Be- 
linda, whose  delight  was  to  torture  what  at- 
tracted her,  and  who  before  many  years  had 
passed  over  her  head  had  left  more  than  one 
man  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  hated  or  loved 
her  the  most,  and  quite  certain  that  it  was 
possible  to  do  both  at  once.  Then  I  drew 
Theophilus  and  got  a  better  likeness,  until  a 
blot  fell  from  the  pen  and  totally  obliterated 
one  eye,  giving  him  a  prize-fighting  appear- 
ance not  at  one  with  his  clerical  tie  and  collar. 
I  decided  on  a  plan  of  action. 

"  Theophilus,"  I  began  that  evening,  for 
he  generally  came  for  a  short  call  after  sup- 


WE  GO   TO  AMBULANCE   CLASSES.        197 

per,  "  would  you — could  you — would  it  be 
very  mean  for  you  who  know  the  Doctor  so 
well  to  find  out  what  he  thinks  of  Pamela?  " 

The  Vicar  was  somewhat  dense,  I  confess 
it,  though  I  frequently  stood  up  for  him  when 
he  was  not  present  when  this  failing  was  men- 
tioned. He  grew  pale — or  perhaps  it  was 
the  moonlight,  for  we  were  seated  in  the 
garden. 

"  She  does  look  delicate,"  he  replied 
thoughtfully.  "  That  pink  and  white  com- 
plexion. But  has  he  seen  her  profession- 
ally? " 

I  explained  that  it  was  love  I  feared,  not 
consumption,  though,  as  someone  of  discrim- 
ination has  pointed  out,  they  are  frequently 
one  and  the  same  thing. 

"  We  have  seen  the  Doctor  several  times 
— often,  in  fact,  besides  going  to  the  Lec- 
tures. Pamela  is  very  young,  and  suppose — 
I  don't  know  that  she  does — but  just  sup- 
pose she  liked  him,  and  he  didn't  return " 


198  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

"What  then?"  asked  the  Vicar.  Men 
ahvays  require  a  sentence  to  be  finished,  the 
two  first  words  convey  the  situation  to  a 
woman.  "  Do  you  think  she  would  fret  her- 
self ill,  or  what?  " 

"Oh,"  I  cried,  "it  would  hurt  so!  All 
the  world  would  be  like  a  suburb,  and  every 
day  like — like  Sunday!  " 

I  looked  at  my  companion,  expecting  to 
see  that  struggle  between  his  duty  to  re- 
prove and  his  desire  to  forgive  so  often 
written  on  his  countenance,  but  it  was 
adorned  by  a  smile  only — a  self-depreca- 
tory smile,  as  one  might  wear  who  had 
been  given  more  than  his  measure  of  happi- 
ness. 

"  Would  you  have  felt  like  that,  if  I  hadn't 
— hadn't— Maria?  " 

After  an  interval,  I  remarked  casually: 

"  Do  you  know,  I've  noticed,  Theo,  since 
William  pointed  it  out  to  me,  that  whatever 
subject  we  start  talking  about,  you  invariably 


WE   GO  TO   AMBULANCE   CLASSES.       199 

contrive  to  bring  the  conversation  round  to 
your  own  affairs?  " 

"  Oh,  William  said  that,  did  he?  Well, 
I  must  say  there's  nothing  like  getting  en- 
gaged to  become  acquainted  with  one's 
own  faults." 

"  Indeed,  Belinda  says  she's  sure  I  shall 
discover  something  terrible  about  you — when 
we  are  married.  She  has  an  idea  that  people 
with  few  faults  have  some  dreadful  vice  in 
the  background." 

"  Belinda's  a  naughty  little  puss,"  said  the 
Vicar. 

It  appeared  time  to  go  in. 

Theophilus  delicately  introduced  Pamela 
as  a  topic  of  conversation  when,  soon  after, 
he  had  a  chat  with  Dr.  Macgregor,  and  was 
rewarded  by  his  friend's  full  confidence. 

"  It's  all  right.  There  isn't  a  man  more 
in  love  in  the  whole  of  Brick  Park  than  Mac- 
gregor, except  myself,  of  course." 

"  What  did  he  say?  " 


20O  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

*'  Say!  what  didn't  he  say?  I  went  for 
ten  minutes,  and  had  to  Hsten  for  a  couple  of 
hours.  He  said  she  was  lovely — he  loved  her 
— he  wasn't  worthy  of  her  love,  but  then  what 
man  could  be?  Would  I  say  a  good  word 
for  him  to  you  and  Belinda,  especially  Be- 
linda? " 

"  Belinda  again?  "  I  ejaculated. 

"  Yes,  it  appears  when  dealing  with  your 
family  you  can't  reckon  without  Belinda. 
Macgregor  says  she  has  a  great  deal  of 
character,  and  might  perhaps  influence  Pa- 
mela against  him.  I  told  him,"  added  The- 
ophilus  gleefully,  "  that  Belinda  laughed  at 
him." 

"  Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  And  how  did 
you  know,  pray?  " 

"  Oh,  I  guessed,"  responded  the  Vicar 
lamely.     "  Belinda  laughs  at  everybody." 

"  Including  you,"  I  reminded  him,  for 
what  right  had  he  to  give  Belinda  away? 
My  doing  so  was  another  matter.     She  was 


WE   GO  TO  AMBULANCE  CLASSES.       20I 

my  own  sister,  and  if  you  can't  give  away 
your  own,  what  can  you  give? 

The  Vicar  seemed  to  know  what  was  pass- 
ing in  my  mind,  for  he  said: 

"  What's  yours  is  mine,  Maria." 


CHAPTER    XI. 

WE   REQUIRE   THE    DOCTOR    PROFESSIONALLY. 

Theophilus,  though  undeniably  want- 
ing in  humour,  proved  himself  the  possessor 
of  much  sympathy  when  Pamela  fell  ill  to- 
ward the  beginning  of  September. 

The  examination  on  the  Ambulance  Lec- 
tures and  all  its  consequent  excitement  being 
over  left  nothing  behind  it  but  to  wait  and 
wonder  when  we  should  hear  whether  we 
deserved  a  certificate  or  no. 

I  found  much  difficulty  in  recollecting  the 
directions  for  restoring  the  apparently 
drowned.  On  confiding  this  lapse  of  mem- 
ory to  Belinda,  she  begged  me  to  read  the 
subject  up  again: 

*'  For  it  has  rained  so  much  of  late,"  she 
202 


WE   REQUIRE   THE   DOCTOR.  203 

explained,  "  that  I  am  beginning  to  get 
quite  nervous!  " 

This,  of  course,  was  an  exaggerated  ap- 
prehension. Still,  it  had  rained  persistently, 
and  when  the  hot  August  sun  shone  out  at 
intervals,  the  steam  rose  in  a  sultry  mist  from 
the  ground,  wrapping  us  in  a  continual  va- 
pour bath.  BeHnda  openly  envied  Olivia's 
visit  to  Cornwall,  even  accompanied  by  the 
typewriter.  Her  editor  thought  she  was  out 
of  town,  she  herself  having  led  him  to  this 
supposition. 

"  He  would  presume  if  he  knew  I  stayed 
in  the  suburbs  all  August,  and  be  asking  me 
to  touch  up  the  prize  competition  drawings, 
or  something  equally  undesirable." 

So  Belinda  was  away  on  the  moors  in 
Yorkshire;  having  done  three  wrecks'  work 
in  advance,  she  went  with  a  clear  con- 
science. When  the  proper  time  had  elapsed 
she  was  again  seen  haunting  a  certain  of- 
fice in  Fleet  Street.  Her  return  was  hailed 
14 


204  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

by  a  compliment  on  her  invigorated  appear- 
ance. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  away,"  sighed  the 
editorial  martyr  to  fashions. 

"  The  sea  is  so  cool  after  London,"  mur- 
mured his  contributor,  forgetting  the  moors 
had  been  her  destination. 

"  He  declared  I  brought  a  whiff  of  sea-air 
into  the  room  with  me,"  said  Belinda  when 
recounting  this  conversation,  "  which  speaks 
well  for  Tidman's,  which  I  use  every  morn- 
ing since  I  learnt  that  we  have  gout  as  well  as 
Art  in  the  family." 

The  boys  went  on  a  bicycle  tour,  for  Wil- 
liam had  a  bond-fide  holiday,  and  Jack,  lucky 
being,  was  now  successful  enough  to  arrange 
his  own  leisure.  We  urged  Pamela  to  write, 
or  let  us  write,  reminding  Uncle  of  his  prom- 
ise to  invite  her  to  stay  with  him,  but  she  de- 
clared it  would  break  her  heart  to  go  alone  to 
Riverside,  where  she  had  once  been  so  happy. 
Considering  her  youth,  and  hitherto  happy 


WE  REQUIRE   THE   DOCTOR.  205 

existence,  Pamela,  at  this  juncture  of  her  Hfe, 
was  strangely  partial  to  speaking  and  dwell- 
ing upon  the  past.  She  did  not  seem  to  take 
any  interest  in  the  present,  and  never  spoke 
at  all  of  the  future.  Possessed  by  some  in- 
ability to  settle  down  to  any  occupation,  she 
dragged  poor  Jinks  for  miles  along  the  hot 
suburban  roads,  until  in  pity  for  the  animal 
we  clipped  him  close,  when  he  looked,  as 
Mary  expressed  it,  "  for  all  the  world  like  a 
Skye  poodle!  " 

One  afternoon  she  started  for  a  long  drive 
on  the  top  of  an  omnibus,  though  it  threat- 
ened the  usual  rain,  and  returned  wet  and 
shivering.  Mary,  who  still  treated  her 
youngest  "  young  lady "  much  as  a  child, 
helped  her  to  bed. 

"  And  there  you'll  stay.  Miss,  for  a  couple 
of  days,  or  my  name  isn't  Mary." 

But  the  next  morning  showed  that  it 
would  take  more  than  a  couple  of  days  for 
Pamela  to  recover.     We  grew  anxious  when 


2o6  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

she  sat  up  in  bed  querulously  persisting  that 
she  must  get  up  and  arrange  her  room  dif- 
ferently. Why  had  we  moved  everything 
from  the  place  she  liked  it  to  be?  Her  mind 
had  wandered  to  her  old  room  at  The  Court, 
and  all  sense  of  her  real  surroundings  had 
faded. 

"  We  must  send  for  the  Doctor,"  I  said  to 
Belinda. 

"  It  hardly  seems  correct,"  replied  my  sis- 
ter, I  thought  at  random  until  she  continued: 
"  Even  you,  unobservant  though  you  are, 
must  have  noticed  that  Pamela  is  desperately 
in  love  with  Macgregor.  Suppose  she  grew 
delirious,  and  told  him  so,  she  would  never 
forgive  us — yet  if  we  send  for  another  it  will 
look  strange " 

"  He's  in  love  with  her  too,"  I  inter- 
rupted, and  Belinda  looked  relieved. 

"  You  might  have  told  me  before,  Maria; 
you  don't  know  how  it's  worried  me  to  see 
the  child  so  unhappy." 


WE  REQUIRE  THE   DOCTOR.  207 

Belinda,  though  so  casual  on  the  surface, 
was  really  very  affectionate. 

"  I  might  contrive  to  meet  the  Vicar  after 
matins,  and  ask  his  opinion." 

"  I  think  you  might — you've  done  it  so 
often  on  your  own  account,  that  you  might 
do  it  again  on  somebody  else's." 

The  Vicar  acted  with  decision.  "  Mac- 
gregor's  away  on  his  holiday.  Didn't  you 
know?     But  I'll  go  myself  for  his  partner." 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  he  told  us  that 
Pamela  had  congestion  of  both  lungs,  and 
must  have  the  most  careful  nursing. 

"  You  must  have  a  hospital  nurse.  Miss 
Chilcott.  It's  a  pity,"  he  added  kindly, 
"  that  Macgregor's  classes  weren't  on  '  Sick 
Nursing '  in  stead  of  '  First  Aid,'  as  then  you 
might  have  done  without  a  professional." 

The  nurse,  a  model  of  calm,  orderly,  yet 
sympathetic  nursing,  presented  such  a  dainty 
picture  in  her  soft  grey  dress,  and  pretty 
white  cap  and  apron,  that  we  feared  she  would 


2o8  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

encourage  Pamela  in  her  notion  of  taking  up 
nursing  as  a  profession.  We  would  not  al- 
low ourselves  to  think  it  possible  for  her 
never  to  get  better  at  first,  though  the  day 
came  later  when  we  had  to  admit  there  was  a 
chance  of  her  not  being  with  us  to  choose  any 
career  at  all. 

We  wrote  to  Olivia,  telling  her  to  return 
at  once.  Olivia  loved  her  sister  with  a  pas- 
sionate devotion,  which  did  not  prevent  them 
quarrelling  frequently.  The  aim  of  her  life 
was  to  become  known — as  a  poetess  for 
choice — and  to  make  money,  for  which  she 
feared  it  necessary  to  descend  into  the  arena 
of  fiction — and  then  to  have  Pamela  to  live 
with  her,  when  every  wish  of  that  young  per- 
son's heart  was  to  be  gratified,  and  her  beauty 
to  be  the  shrine  at  which  many — and  here 
she  did  not  wish  all  to  be  Bohemian — were 
to  worship. 

And  we  wrote  to  Uncle,  saying  we  would 
telegraph  bad  news  and  send  a  postcard  of 


"WE   REQUIRE   THE  DOCTOR.  209 

report  every  evening.  We  told  him  we 
had  a  nurse,  also  qualms  as  to  how  we 
were  to  meet  expenses.  He  replied,  ex- 
pressing great  anxiety,  and  saying  he  con- 
sidered he  had  adopted  our  expenses  for  the 
present. 

The  boys'  address  we  knew  not.  They 
had  left  so  gaily,  never  anticipating  anything 
out-of-the-way  would  occur  in  their  absence. 
Jack  had  sent  a  few  illustrations  of  incidents 
that  had  occurred  on  the  way,  without  a  line; 
even  the  postmark  on  the  envelope  being  un- 
intelligible. 

"  The  drawings,"  remarked  Belinda,  "  ex- 
plain themselves;  mostly,  I  notice,  to  Wil- 
liam's disadvantage." 

They  were  due  in  a  few  days,  for  William's 
holiday  leave  would  then  expire.  We  dread- 
ed to  see  his  smile,  as  broad  as  it  would  be 
welcome,  fade  when  we  told  him  his  sister's 
life  was  in  danger. 

For  Pamela  grew  worse  as  each  hot  day 


210  BELINDA— AND   SOME  OTHERS. 

lingered  and  faded,  giving  place  to  the  sultry 
night. 

"  She'll  be  better  or  worse  before  the 
evening,"  said  the  doctor  at  his  early  visit; 
and  we  understood  him  to  mean  the  crisis 
was  approaching. 

"  Andrew  will  be  here  by  twelve,"  said  the 
Vicar,  suddenly.  "  I  wrote  to  him  to  come. 
This  is  no  time  to  think  of  propriety." 

When  he  came,  bringing  with  him  an  at- 
mosphere of  quiet  self-reliance,  he  went 
straight  upstairs;  only  stopping  to  whisper 
he  would  come  down  at  intervals  to  give  us 
his  opinion. 

Olivia  sat  outside  Pamela's  door,  which 
was  as  near  as  she  was  allowed,  her  arms  fold- 
ed round  her  knees,  leaning  disconsolately 
against  the  door-post  and  bitterly  reproach- 
ing herself  that  she  had  ever  gone  to  Corn- 
wall. Olivia  had  a  feeling,  shared  by  many, 
that  everything  went  wrong  when  she  wasn't 
present;  though  no  one  else  could  trace  any 


WE   REQUIRE   THE   DOCTOR.  2II 

link    between    her   absence    and    the    catas- 
trophe. 

Belinda  sat  sketching  in  the  conservatory, 
where  she  did  most  of  her  work  in  the  morn- 
ings, not  admitting  there  was  any  possible 
cause  for  anxiety,  and  speaking,  as  was  her 
habit,  as  if  she  personally  conducted  circum- 
stances. Nevertheless,  her  drawing  consist- 
ed mainly  of  rubbing  out  and  sharpening 
pencils.  Presently  she  found  the  heat  strik- 
ing on  the  glass  above  her  head  overwhelm- 
ing, and  looking  through  the  dining-room 
and  folding-doors,  saw  Theophilus  and  me 
seated  in  cooler  comfort  in  the  drawing- 
room.  With  one  hand  he  held  a  newspaper, 
which  he  appeared  to  be  reading,  but  I  think 
he  was  praying;  the  other  was  clasped  in 
mine.  Belinda  came  in  and  sat  down  wear- 
ily, he  dropped  the  paper  and  held  out  that 
hand  to  her  with  a  smile.  She  took  it  absent- 
ly, after  the  method  she  kept  for  pulling  Jin- 
kie's  ears,  and  we  sat  in  silence. 


212  BELINDA— AND  SOME  OTHERS. 

Mary  stood  at  the  back  door  to  warn  any 
tradesman's  boy  entering  to  come  quietly. 
In  our  small  house  every  sound  could  be 
heard  upstairs  distinctly.  Now  and  again 
she  made  a  dive  out  into  the  road  to  silence 
some  barrel-organ.  One  immigrant  from 
the  ItaHan  shores,  new  to  the  ways  of  the 
London  maidservant,  not  understanding  her 
gesticulations,  started  playing;  whereupon 
she  first  shoo'd  at  him  with  her  apron,  as  if 
dispersing  chickens,  and  then  seized  his  piano 
by  both  handles  and  wheeled  it  to  the  turning 
of  the  road,  pointing  the  way  by  which  he 
was  to  vanish.  He  went,  obediently,  fearful 
of  having  done  something  illegal. 

So  we  sat  on  through  the  interminable 
morning;  now  and  again  the  Doctor  crept 
down  in  stockinged  feet  to  say  there  was  no 
change;  and  once  Olivia,  who  had  fallen 
asleep,  woke  hastily,  and  overcome  by  anx- 
iety, crept  down  to  lay  her  head  in  my  lap 
and    sob    wearily.     She    always    feared    the 


WE   REQUIRE  THE  DOCTOR.  213 

worst,  having  a  temperament  strangely  com- 
pounded of  pessimism  and  humour. 

A  slight  commotion,  subdued  yet  excited, 
roused  us  to  find  out  its  reason.  Creeping 
into  the  hall,  we  were  confronted  by  Uncle 
Joshua  and  a  porter  with  his  luggage.  The 
little  man  looked  white  and  apprehensive; 
we  beckoned  him  into  the  dining-room,  and 
whispered  our  welcome  and  reports  of  the 
invalid.  Mary  brought  in  some  tea,  but  he 
would  not  touch  it.  Looking  the  picture  of 
desolation,  he  kept  wandering  from  end  to 
end  of  the  room,  muttering: 

"  All  my  fault,  all  my  fault,  too!  " 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is.  Uncle,"  said  Be- 
linda, "  you've  run  down,  and  got  morbid 
and  nervous.  You've  been  living  on  weak 
tea  and  radishes — don't  deny  it,  weak  tea  and 
radishes!  " 

Uncle  sat  down  by  the  table  and  gazed 
at  her  in  a  helpless,  irresponsible  fashion  for 
a  minute  or  so;  then  some  funny  side  of  the 


214  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

situation,  unknown  to  us,  appealed  to  him 
suddenly.  He  fell  forward  with  his  head  on 
the  table  shaking  with  suppressed  laughter, 
the  result  of  alighting  on  comedy  where  only 
tragedy  was  expected. 

Andrew  strode  silently  into  the  room;  he 
frowned,  who  was  this  person  overcome  by 
such  untimely  hilarity?  He  made  a  step  for- 
ward, and  putting  a  strong  hand  on  Uncle's 
coat-collar,  pushed  rather  than  led  him 
through  the  conservatory  into  the  garden. 
Olivia  followed,  whispering: 

"  It's  Uncle,  and  he's  not  really  laugh- 
ing." 

It  was  two  hours  later,  when  we  again 
heard  the  creak  that  the  Doctor's  huge  form 
caused  the  stairs  to  utter  as  he  crept  down 
them.  We  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door, 
feeling  instinctively  he  had  more  to  tell  us. 

The  joy  of  victory  showed  in  every  line  of 
his  face — the  triumph  of  life  over  death — joy 
for  the  life  of  the  woman  he  loved,  as  well  as 


WE  REQUIRE  THE  DOCTOR.     21 5 

his  professional  joy  over  the  patient  that  re- 
covereth, 

"  She's  asleep,"  he  whispered,  "  and  will 
wake  to  know  us." 

Theophiliis  opened  his  arms,  and  I  fell 
into  them;  Olivia,  having  considerable  ad- 
vantage in  the  matter  of  height,  fell  on  Uncle; 
and  Belinda — well,  Belinda  kissed  the 
Doctor. 

"  And  if  I  did,"  she  said  afterward  when 
rallied  on  this  action,  "  what  then?  You 
might  know,  as  you  went  to  Ambulance  Lec- 
tures, that  when  a  tension  of  mind  breaks — 
if  it  breaks  the  wrong  way,  you  faint,  and  if 
it  breaks  the  right — you  kiss  what's  nearest. 
Besides,  a  kiss  is  like  a  quarrel,  it  takes  two 
to  make  it!  " 

Pamela  lay  very  white  and  shadowy,  but 
very  beautiful,  when  one  by  one  we  were  al- 
lowed to  sit  with  her;  the  weather  turned 
cooler  and  drier,  and  she  mended  with  every 
morning.     When  the  boys  returned,  they  af- 


2i6  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

fected  to  believe  that  we  had  exaggerated 
matters;  but  that  was  only  to  hide  any  dis- 
play of  feeling. 

Belinda  showed  her  thankfulness  her  own 
way;  she  bought  some  pretty  blue  flannel 
and  fashioned  into  a  smart  little  sitting-up 
jacket.  She  sang  like  a  lark  as  she  cut  it  out, 
sewed,  and  finished  it  all  in  one  morning,  and 
then  called  upon  the  whole  household  to  ad- 
mire her  in  it.  It  was  a  mass  of  frills  and, 
edged  with  lace  and  ribbon,  the  stitches  were 
by  no  means  invisible. 

"  Of  course  we  could  have  bought  one  for 
less  than  this  cost  in  a  shop,  girls;  but  it 
wouldn't  have  pleased  the  child  like  this 
will." 

Belinda's  economy  ever  lay  in  getting 
style  for  her  money. 

The  Doctor — so  we  heard — reproved  his 
colleague  sharply  for  not  having  sent  for  him 
sooner. 

"  I'm  na  saying  you  haven't  abeelity,"  he 


WE   REQUIRE   THE   DOCTOR.  217 

said,  growing  Scotch  in  his  wrath,  "  but  you 
have  also  youth  and  inexpeerience." 

"  There  were  no  compHcations,"  repHed 
the  younger  man,  a  little  ruffled. 

"  None  that  you  understood,"  retorted 
his  senior  rudely. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    CONCLUSION     OF    THE    WHOLE    MATTER. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  a  hospital  nurse, 
after  all — not  because  I've  changed  my  mind, 
but  because  I'm  going  to  marry  the  Doctor." 

Pamela  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in — too 
shyly  elated  at  her  news  to  observe  that  our 
surprise  was  a  little  over-acted. 

We  kissed  and  congratulated  her  each 
after  our  individual  fashion. 

"  It  seems,"  exclaimed  Olivia,  christen- 
ing the  new  joy  with  a  few  excited  tears,  "  al- 
most like  having  another  clergyman  in  the 
family." 

We  pressed  her  to  explain,  when  it  turned 
out  that  the  Doctor  was  so  Scotch,  talking 
to  him  was  nearly  as  bad — or  as  good — as 

reading  a  modern  Scotch  novel;  and  Scotch 

218 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  219 

novelists  seemed  always  to  be  ministers — 
more  or  less.  Olivia's  reasoning  was  so  lo- 
cal, confined  entirely  to  her  own  brain  region. 

When  the  excitement  had  subsided,  Be- 
linda, though  on  the  whole  greatly  pleased, 
could  not  refrain  from  fearing — aloud — that 
both  Pamela  and  I  had  been  guilty  of  a  social 
indiscretion. 

"  It  is  considered  bad  form,"  said  the  ora- 
cle, "  to  fall  in  love  with  people  whom  you 
meet  professionally — like  the  Vicar,  or  the 
Doctor.  Yet  perhaps,  when  the  alternative 
is  to  earn  your  living,  a  little  error  of  taste 
may  be  excused." 

Olivia  blushed  hotly  as  the  speaker  en- 
larged upon  our  lapse  from  the  narrow  way 
of  etiquette,  and  observed,  sarcastically,  that 
if  one  waited  to  meet  people  without  refer- 
ence to  their  occupation  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  danger  of  dying  an  old  maid. 

"  Besides,  in  these  days,"  she  concluded, 

"  a  man's  profession  is  like  his  shadow,  al- 
15 


220  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

ways  with  him.  The  only  time  he  forgets  it 
is  at  luncheon,  even  shadows  are  off  duty  in 
the  middle  of  the  day." 

Pamela  affected  indifference  to  this  bone 
of  contention;  her  pretty  little  air  of  superi- 
ority toward  them  both  exasperated  the  for- 
mer exceedingly,  and  caused  the  latter  to  ap- 
pear constantly  on  the  brink  of  telling  some- 
thing, and  then  drawing  back  as  if  afraid  to 
part  with  her  secret. 

Mary,  astonished  at  the  turn  events  had 
taken,  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  some  means 
of  breaking  her  promise  to  me  without  giving 
offence,  so  that  she  could  "  take  service " 
with  her  dear  Miss  Pamela.  She  had  a  deep 
respect  for  Olivia's  cleverness,  but  turned  to 
Belinda  for  help  in  this  difficulty. 

"  For  how  Miss  Pamela  will  get  along 
without  me  when  she  becomes  Mrs.  Andrew 
Macgregory  is  more  than  I  can  tell  on.  I've 
promised  Miss  Maria,  and  a  promise  is  a 
promise.     Do  you  think,  Miss  B'linda,  that 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  221 

if  I  was  to  cook  reglar  awful  for  a  few  days, 
Miss  Maria  would  give  me  notice  beforehand, 
so  to  speak?  " 

Belinda  thought  not. 

"  You  see,  Mary,  Miss  Maria  never  seems 
to  know  what  she's  eating  lately,  though  she 
used  to  be  very  particular — even  greedy. 
And  I  don't  care  about  being  hungry,  as  I 
should  be  if  you  cooked  badly.  No,  you 
must  think  of  another  plan." 

Finally  Mary  remembered  she  was 
"  chapel,"  obviously  it  would  be  injurious 
to  her  conscience  to  "  take  service  "  with  the 
Church. 

I  agreed  that  it  would,  and  she  left  the 
room  beaming,  to  tell  Pamela  that  she  was 
"  given  up  by  Miss  Maria,"  merely  on  ac- 
count of  sectarian  differences. 

Uncle,  who  had  left  London  when  Pamela 
was  convalescent,  wrote  from  the  country 
asking  us  all  to  spend  a  month  with  him. 
But  there  were  unfortunately  obstacles  in  the 


222  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

way  of  this  pleasant  arrangement.  William, 
for  one,  could  not  go;  his  holiday  was  over. 
Of  late  he  had  become  irked  by  the  narrow- 
ness of  his  life  and  the  impossibility  of  rising 
unaided  above  a  mere  clerkship.  He  had 
dreams — a  boy's  rose-coloured  dreams  of  the 
ease  with  which  a  fortune  is  to  be  made  on 
other  and  alien  shores;  but  to  leave  England 
meant  saving  money  for  a  start,  and  to  save 
meant  unceasing  application  to  his  work  in 
hand. 

And  Belinda's  holiday  was  over.  She 
wished  she  had  sacrificed  appearances  and  ad- 
mitted being  in  town  through  August. 

"  I  never  thought  of  this  happening! " 
she  exclaimed  disgustedly. 

Olivia  too  found  duty  imperative,  which 
was  not  surprising,  seeing  her  holiday  had 
stretched  over  a  couple  of  months. 

*'  You  might  ask  for  one  more  week," 
suggested  Jack,  who  held  a  slight  opinion  of 
his  sister  officially. 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  223 

But  Olivia  was  resolute, 

"  It  would  be  unreasonable — and — and 
there's  my  portrait,  too,  to  be  finished.  The 
light  will  be  dark  in  November,"  she  added, 
confusedly. 

Uncle  replied  to  our  objections  by  hoping 
that  we  could  all  spare  from  a  Saturday  to 
Monday;  he  ordered  us  to  come  in  fact,  hav- 
ing a  little  surprise  ready  for  us. 

Jack,  whose  too  sedentary  occupation  re- 
flected upon  his  spirits,  felt  sure  that  Joshua 
was  intent  upon  marriage. 

"  Which  will  do  away  with  any  chance  of 
my  coming  into  The  Court,"  he  sighed,  "  as 
eldest  nephew  and  heir  presumptive." 

"  Yes,  you  may  depend  upon  it,"  agreed 
Belinda,  "  that  he's  going  to  be  married. 
Have  you  never  noticed  how  events  move  in 
threes — first  Maria,  then  Pamela;  oh,  there's 
sure  to  be  a  third  make  a  fool  of  themselves!  " 

Olivia  rose  suddenly  from  the  table — this 
discussion  took  place  during  luncheon — on 


224  BELINDA— AND  SOME   OTHERS. 

pretence  of  wanting  some  Worcester  sauce 
with  her  custard.  She  often  got  up  quickly 
at  meals  instead  of  ringing  the  bell,  much  to 
our  discomfort;  and  would  return  after  a 
short  sojourn  in  the  kitchen,  looking  as  if 
she  had  helped  herself  to  mustard  in  the  pas- 
sage and  found  it  warmer  than  she  had  ex- 
pected. 

Belinda  insisted  on  us  wearing  the  best 
our  wardrobes  would  afford  during  our  short 
stay  at  Riverside  Court. 

"  For  then,  if  the  surprise  is  of  a  pleasant 
sort,"  she  argued,  "  we  shall  at  least  look  as 
if  we  had  a  right  to  the  pleasures  of  life;  and 
if  it  is  of  the  unpleasant  order,  why  we  shall 
derive  moral  support  from  our  clothes  and 
appear  indififerent  to  mere  circumstances.  I 
have  always  held,  myself,  that  half  the  vaunt- 
ed repose  of  Vere  de  Vere  was  founded  upon 
a  French  dressmaker." 

A  few  hours  later  we  were  treading  the 
platform  of  a  familiar  station.     There  was  no 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  225 

one  to  meet  us — so  we  thought,  until  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  a  smart  footman  stand- 
ing near  Jack  touched  his  hat  with  an  inter- 
rogative "  Mr.  Chilcott,  sir? "  and  led  the 
way  to  a  light  wagonette  drawn  up  outside 
the  station. 

"  Uncle's  been  deceiving  us,"  scribbled 
Belinda  on  her  pocket  notebook.  "  I 
guessed  so  all  along,  but  you  must  pretend  to 
be  surprised,  to  please  him."  This  she 
passed  round  for  each  to  read,  talking  loudly 
the  while  of  some  changes  in  the  road  made 
since  our  departure. 

Uncle  Joshua  stood  by  the  gate,  a  pleas- 
ant smile  of  welcome  on  his  face,  shadowed 
by  a  nervousness  as  to  how  we  were  taking 
his  "  surprise."  The  house  as  we  had  known 
it  was  there  in  all  its  picturesque  familiarity; 
but  oh,  the  difference  inside  and  in  the  gar- 
den! The  lawn,  once  so  full  of  dips  and 
bumps  that  it  served  almost  equally  well  for 
golf-links  or  tennis-courts,  now  lay  one  great 


226  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

expanse  of  green,  smooth,  close-cut  turf,  and 
the  half-dozen  little  terraces  which  led  from  it 
to  the  river  were  filled  with  trails  of  blossom- 
ing creepers,  making  one  great  bank  of  col- 
our. 

We  felt  in  a  land  of  dreams  as  Uncle  led 
the  way  over  the  bridge  across  the  river  and 
into  the  kitchen-garden,  showing  this  and 
that  improvement  and  alteration  proudly,  yet 
anxious  withal  to  assure  us  that  none  of  the 
trees  or  shrubs — the  old  familiar  landmarks 
of  our  youth — had  been  touched,  none  of  the 
quaint  irregularity  of  the  paths  interfered 
with. 

"  I  shall  never  forget  how  Olivia  dropped 
tears  upon  this  laurel-bush  the  day  you  left," 
he  said.  "  I  nearly  let  it  all  out  that  morn- 
ing; but  I  wanted  to  see  how  you  would  get 
on  alone,  and  how  you  would  treat  me  if  I 
were  a  poor  man,  though  originally  I  only 
meant  you  to  be  away  while  the  house  was 
done  up;  but  you  were  so  sure  that  I  meant 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  227 

to  turn  you  out,  it  amused  me  to  let  things 
drift  awhile.  By-the-by,"  he  continued  po- 
litely, "  has  the  smell  of  varnish  vacated  your 
room  yet?  " 

"  I'm  having  my  portrait  painted,"  an- 
swered Olivia  with  irrelevant  haste;  perhaps 
the  word  varnish  recalled  the  Academician. 

"  Indeed;  I  hope  I  may  be  allowed  the 
first  ofifer  to  purchase.  It  shall  be  the 
foundation  of  a  modest  collection." 

"  Oh,  but  it's— he's  Brown,  R.A.,  you 
know,"  continued  Olivia  proudly. 

*'Oh,  he's  Brown,  R.A.,  is  he?  Well, 
perhaps  even  Brown,  R.A.,  will  sell  it  to  the 
South  African  pauper." 

This  nickname  fell  guiltily  upon  our  ears; 
how  had  he  come  to  know  of  it? 

The  boys  were  very  silent,  for  men  are 
constitutionally  averse  to  having  "  coals  of 
fire  "  heaped  upon  their  heads.  Women,  on 
the  other  hand,  feel  they  have  the  power  to 
equalise  matters  by  being  gracious. 


228  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

Uncle  left  us  together  by  the  dog  kennels 
a  minute  while  he  talked  to  a  gardener. 

The  kennels — where  we  had  held  debates 
on  many  matters,  discussed  books,  formed 
plans,  joked,  quarrelled,  made  friends  again, 
and  been  sufficient  unto  ourselves  and  care- 
less of  everything  else  to  an  extent  only 
understood  by  those  who  have  made  one  of 
a  large  company  of  sisters  and  brothers. 
The  place  was  strangely  silent,  no  friendly 
yelp  broke  in  upon  an  argument,  or  turned 
a  youthfully  sententious  speech  to  ridicule. 
Jinks  we  had  left  against  his  will  in  London, 
and  the  puppies,  like  ourselves,  had  gone  out 
into  the  world. 

The  first  chillness  of  Autumn  crisped  the 
September  sunshine,  almost  the  first  leaf  to 
fall  fluttered  to  our  feet.  We  felt  afraid  to 
look  into  each  other's  eyes  lest  we  should 
read  regret.  For  young  and  old  alike.  Mel- 
ancholy marks  memory  for  her  own.  Of 
course  Uncle  meant  our  visit  kindly,  and  we 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  229 

would  be  cheerful,  even  facetious,  for  his 
sake,  but  we  realised  for  the  first  time  that 
soon  we  should  be  separated:  Pamela  and  I 
would  have  new  homes,  new  interests,  new 
cares  maybe.  William  would  be  across  the 
seas. 

Poor  Jack,  as  he  looked  round  upon 
the  improved  and  glorified  edition  of  his  old 
home,  felt  his  last  hope  of  passing  a  peaceful 
old  age — he  had  always  looked  forward  to  a 
peaceful  old  age  surrounded  by  a  quantity  of 
tobacco — slipping  fast  away  from  him.  He 
might  just  as  well  die  as  spend  his  declining 
years  anywhere  else. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  glum.  Jack? " 
queried  Belinda,  herself  the  only  entirely 
cheerful  one. 

"  Of  course  he'll  marry,"  murmured  Jack 
in  reply. 

"  And  have  ten  children,"  asserted  Olivia 
sweepingly. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it!  "  cried  Belinda,  re- 


230  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

plying  to  Jack,  though  it  sounded  as  if  she 
meant  to  interfere  to  prevent  the  second 
prophecy. 

"  He  has  a  right  to  be  happy,"  maintained 
Pamela  stoutly. 

"  Ah!  you,  of  course,  are  a  judge  in  such 
matters,"  put  in  William, 

*'  Well,  it's  the  place  I  care  for,  not  the 
money,"  said  Jack  again,  throwing  pebbles 
into  the  river. 

If  Uncle  had  criticised  our  suburban  fur- 
nishing with  candour,  we  returned  the  com- 
pliment freely,  when  on  returning  to  the 
house  we  found  it  redecorated  as  well  as  re- 
furnished from  the  gabled  attics  to  the  cel- 
lars underground. 

"  Excellent  taste.  Uncle,"  this  from  Be- 
linda, "  exquisite  colouring.  No  makeshift 
or  imitation  here:  of  course  you  didn't  do  it 
yourself;  but  the  arranging — why,  there's 
none;  it's  simply  thrown  together.  It  wants 
a  woman  to  do  that  for  you." 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  23 1 

She  Stopped  to  pull  a  chair  forward  and 
push  another  back,  draw  down  a  blind  half- 
way, and  gather  a  curtain  into  graceful  folds. 
The  room  at  once  gained  in  grace  and  hospi- 
tality. 

"  That's  just  it!  "  cried  Joshua  delighted- 
ly; "just  what  I've  been  saying  to  myself — 
it  wants  a  woman."  And  he  looked  round 
for  general  assent. 

So  the  blow  had  fallen.  He  had  ask^d  us 
down  to  make  acquaintance  with  a  prospec- 
tive aunt.  After  all,  the  surprise  partook 
more  of  the  unpleasant  order.  I  tried  to  de- 
rive the  promised  moral  support  from  my 
best  parasol;  it  was  an  en  tout  cas,  and  guar- 
anteed serviceable  for  all  weathers. 

"  You  will  be  getting  married,  Uncle?  " 
I  hazarded. 

A  shadow  fell  on  Joshua  Chilcott's  face. 

"  I  should  have  married  years  ago,"  he 
said  simply;  "  but  she — she  died.  I  shall 
never  marry  now,  children." 


232  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

That  last  word  told  us  all  we  wanted  to 
know,  but  for  the  moment  we  forgot  our  own 
hopes  and  fears.  My  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and  Pamela's  too  were  full  as  she  took  Uncle's 
hand  between  her  own  and  held  it  very  close. 
Olivia's  young  face  grew  still  and  grave. 
Why?  She  had  not  experienced  Love,  that 
comes  as  a  thief  in  the  night,  and  makes  or 
mars  a  life's  happiness! 

Belinda  murmured  something  sympa- 
thetic, but  it  was  Jack's  arm  she  squeezed,  not 
Uncle's. 

Christmas  time  saw  us  again  visiting 
The  Court.  We  had  returned  to  town 
after  that  September  day  when  we  learned 
that  Uncle  stood — financially — somewhere 
half-way  between  a  millionaire  and  a  pauper. 
Much  had  happened  in  the  autumn.  We 
gave  up  our  little  house  in  Triangle  Lawn, 
and  removed  the  furniture  to  a  bright  roomy 
studio  in  a  more  fashionable  locality,  where 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER.  233 

Jack  decided  to  continue  his  artistic  strug- 
gles, after  exchanging  the  pen  of  the  illustra- 
tor for  the  brush  and  palette  of  oil-colours. 

Olivia,  whom  nothing  would  tempt  from 
London  for  long,  offered  Jack  her  services  as 
housekeeper,  and  Mary  offered  hers  as  do- 
mestic until  "  Mrs.  Andrew  Macgregory " 
should  need  her.  He  accepted  both  cheer- 
fully. Uncle  gave  them  each  an  allowance 
larger  than  our  whole  united  income  had  been 
previously.  The  intellectual  atmosphere  of 
literary  and  artistic  Bohemia,  combined  with 
lavish  personal  expenditure,  suited  Olivia  ex- 
actly, and  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  her  own  am- 
bitions. She  published  a  book  of  poems 
under  her  own  name  in  which  pessimism  and 
humour  struggled  for  supremacy,  became  a 
prominent  member  of  an  aesthetic  club,  and 
refurnished  the  studio  at  intervals  of  a  few 
weeks  or  so. 

William,  installed  as  Uncle's  man  of  busi- 
ness, with  a  trip  to  South  Africa  in  prospect, 


234  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

lived  for  some  time  in  a  continual  state  of 
feeling  he  would  wake  up  suddenly,  for,  as  he 
expressed  it,  it  was  out  of  all  reason  to  begin 
life  at  the  wrong  end  of  the  ladder.  He  Vas 
seen  frequently  to  measure  himself  round  the 
waist,  and  on  finding  it  still  of  respectably 
moderate  dimensions,  concluded  he  was  the 
first  instance  on  record  of  prosperity  having 
come  to  anyone  without  bringing  an  increase 
of  flesh  in  proportion. 

Belinda,  on  the  contrary,  took  to  riches  as 
a  duckling  to  water;  her  one  trial  was  when 
there  were  so  many  charming  roles  for  the 
young  and  modern  woman  of  money  to  play, 
that  she  could  not  decide  which  line  to  adopt, 
when  all  were  so  fascinating. 

"  For  of  course  I  shall  succeed  in  what- 
ever I  take  up,"  she  explained  modestly. 

"  And  we,  knowing  her  so  well,  could  not 
deny  it. 

Andrew  and  Theophilus  contrived  to 
spend  the  New  Year  with  us.     Uncle  had  in- 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  WHOLE  MATTER. 


235 


sisted  upon  a  year  elapsing  before  we  were 
to  marry. 

"  To  give  us  time  to  think  about  settle- 
ments," was  his  way  of  putting  it. 

This  delay  did  not  prevent  Pamela  from 
deciding  every  detail  of  the  ceremony.  She 
declared  the  bridesmaids'  dresses — we  were 
both  to  be  married  on  the  same  day — should 
be  blue,  a  shade  to  which  Olivia  objected. 

"What  would  you  have  then?"  asked 
Pamela,  anxious  to  be  conciliatory  in  her 
happiness. 

"  Brown,  R.A,"  replied  Olivia  dreamily, 
and  went  on  to  tell  us  how  she  had  promised 
to  take  that  colour  for  better  or  worse 
through  life. 

"  Well,  it's  a  good  wearing  colour,"  said 
the  Vicar  thoughtfully. 

"  And  he's  a  good  fellow,"  added  Jack, 

who  had  been  let  into  the  secret  some  time 

back. 

Andrew  turned  to  Belinda,  who  stood  be- 
16 


236  BELINDA— AND   SOME   OTHERS. 

side  Uncle,  Jinks  at  her  feet,  all  three  looking 
out  of  the  window. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  follow  our  ex- 
ample? "  he  began  teasingly. 

"  I  mean  to  have  a  good  time  first — with 
Uncle." 

And  the  Doctor  looked — as  he  was  meant 
to  look — foolish. 

And  Belinda  is — as  yet,  Belinda. 


THE    END. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN   AND   COUNTRY   LIBRARY. 


PUBLISHED   SEMIMONTHLY. 


1.  The  Sted  Hammer.   By  L.  TJtaACH. 

2.  Eve.    By  S.  Babing-Gould. 

8.  For  Fijteen  Years.    By  L.  Ulbach. 

4.  A    Counsel  qf  Perfection.     By  L. 

Malet. 

5.  The  Deemster.    By  H  Caine. 
5}.  The  Bondman.    By  H.  Caine. 

6.  A    Virginia    Inheritance .     By    E. 

Pendleton. 

7.  Ninette.    By  the  author  of  V6ra. 

8.  "  7%«  Right  Honourable. '^     By  J. 

McCarthy  and  Mrs.  Campbbll- 
Praed. 

9.  The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland.    By 

M.  Gray. 
10.  Mrs.  Larimer.    By  L  Malet. 
IL  The  Elect  Lady.  hyG.llLiLClioinaji. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the  '^'^Ocean  Star." 

By  W.  C.  Russell. 

13.  Ai-istocracy. 

14.  A    Recoiling    Vengeance.      By    F. 

Barrett. 

15.  The  Secret  of  Fontaine-la- CnAx.  By 

M.  Field. 

16.  The  Master  qf  RathkeUy.    By  H. 

Smart. 

17.  Donovan.    By  E.  Lyall. 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.    By  G.  Allen. 

19.  A  Fair  Emigrant.   By  R.  Mulhol- 

LAND. 

20.  The.  Apostate.    By  E.  Daudet. 

21.  Raleigh  Westgate.    By  H.  K.  John- 

son. 
82.  Arius  the  Libyan. 

23.  Constance,  and  CalboCs  Rival.    By 

J.  Hawthorne. 

24.  We  Ttco.    By  E.  Lyall. 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.    By  the  au 

thor  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies'  Gallery.   By  J.  McCar- 

thy and  Mrs.  Campbbll-Praed. 

87.  The  Reproach  qf  Annesley.    By  M. 

Gray. 

88.  Near  to  Happiness. 

89.  In  the  Wire  Grass.    By  L.  Pendle- 

ton. 

80.  Lace.    By  P.  Lindau. 

30}.  The  Black  Poodle.   ByF.ANSTEY. 

81.  American   Coin.    By  the  antbor  of 

Aristocracy. 

82.  Won  by  Waiting.    By  E.  Ltall. 

83.  The  Story  of  Ilden  Davenant.    By 

V.  Fane. 

84.  Tlie  Light  of  Her  Countenance.    By 

n.  H.  BOYESEN. 

^^^istress  Beatrice  Cope.    By  M.  E. 
^^^B  Le  Clerc. 
^WrA«  Knight-Errant.   By  E.  Lyall. 

87.  In  the  Golden  Days.    By  E  Lyall. 

88.  Oiraldi.    By  R.  G.  DBBisa. 


89.  A  Hardy  Norseman.   By  E.  Lyall. 

40.  Ttie  Rotnance  qf  Jenny  Harlowe,  and 

Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.   By  W. 
C.  Russell. 

41.  Passion's  Slave.   By  R.  Ashb-Kino. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick. 

By  B.  Whitby. 
48.  Countess  Loreley.    By  R.  Menoeb. 

44.  Blind  Love.    By  W.  Collins. 

45.  The  Dean's  Daughter.    By  S.  F.  F. 

Veitch. 

46.  Countess  Irene.    By  J.  Fogerty. 

47.  Robert  Brouming''s  Principal  Short- 

er  Poems. 

48.  Frozen  Hearts.    By  G.  W.  Apple - 

TON. 

49.  DJambek  the  Georgian.    By  A.  G. 

von  Suttner. 

50.  The  Craze  of  Christian  Engelhart. 

By  H.  F.  Darnell. 

51.  Lai.    By  W.  A.  Hammond,  M.  D. 

52.  Aline.    By  H.  Gr^ville. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.    By  M.  Maabtens. 

54.  Katy  of  Catoctin.    By  G.  A.  Town- 

send. 

55.  Throckmorton.  By  M.  E.  Seawell. 

56.  Expatriation.    By    the   author   of 

Aristocracy. 

57.  Creoffrey    Hampstead.     By    T.    8. 

Jarvis. 

58.  DmitH.    By  F.  W.  Bain,  M.  A. 

59   Part  of  the  Property.  By  B.  Whitby. 

60.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.    By  a 

Fellow-Student. 

61.  In  Low  Relief.    By  M.  Roberts. 

62.  The    Canadians  of   Old.     By   P. 

GASPfi. 

63.  A  Squire  qf  Low  Degree.    By  L.  A. 

Long. 

64.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.    By  G.  M. 

Fenn. 

65.  The  Nugents  of  Carriconna.   By  T. 

Hopkins. 

66.  A  Semitive  Plant.    By  E.  and  D, 

Gerard. 

67.  Dofia  Lvz.    By  J.  Valera.    Trans- 

lated by  Mrs.  M.  J.  Serrano. 

68.  Pepita  Xitnenez.     By  J.   Valera. 

Translated  by  Mrs.  M.  J.  Ser- 
rano. 

69.  The  Primes  and  their  Neighbors. 

By  R.  M.  Johnston. 

70.  The  Iron  Game.   ByH.  F.  Keenan. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  New  Spain.    By  T. 

A.  Janvier. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.    By  Hon.  L. 

WiNGPIELD. 

78.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.    By  M. 

Gray. 
74.  Consequences.    By  E.  Cabtlb. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.— {Conilnved.) 


75.  The  Three  Miss  Kings.     By  A. 

16.  A  Matter  of  SkUl.   By  B.Whitby. 

77.  Maid  Marian,  and  Other  Stories. 

By  M.  E.  Seawell. 

78.  One  Woman's  Way.    By  E.  Pen- 

dleton. 

79.  A  Merciful  Divorce.     By  F.  W. 

Maude. 

80.  Stephen  EUicotVs  Daughter.     By 

Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

81.  One.  Reasm,  Why.   By  B.  Whitby. 

82.  The   Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.    By 

W.  C.  RUPSELL. 

Gh..  The  Johnstovm  Stage,  and  Other 
Stories.    By  R.  H.  Fletcher. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.  By  R.  Brough- 

ton  and  E.  Bisland. 

85.  The  Flight  of  a  Shadow.    By  G. 

MacDonald. 

86.  Love  oi'  Money.    By  K.  Lee. 

87.  NotAllinVain.  ByA. Cambbidge. 

88.  It   Happened   Yesterday.     By  F. 

Marshall. 

89.  My  Guardian.   By  A.  Cambridge. 

90.  The  Story  of  Philip  Methuen.    By 

Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

91.  Amethyst.    By  C.  R.  Coleridge. 
98.  Don    Braulio.     By    J.    Valeba. 

Translated  by  C.  Bell. 

93.  The  Chronicles  of  Mr.   Bill  WU- 

Hams.    By  R.  M.  Johnston. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Curds  and  Cream.  By 

95.  "  La  Bella "  and  Others.    By  E. 

96.  '■'■  December  Roses.'"  By  Mrs.  Camp- 

bell-Pbaed. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.    By  J.  Schtiltz. 

98.  Etelka's  Vmv.    By  D.  Gerard. 

99.  Crosscurrents.  By  M.  A.  Dickens. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.  By  T.  Elmslie. 

101.  Passing  the  Love  of  Women.     By 

Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

102.  In  Old  St.  SUpJien's.  By  J.  Drake. 

103.  The  Berkeleys  and  their  Neighboi-s. 

By  M.  E.  Seawell. 

104.  Mo7ia  Maclean,  Medical  Student. 

Bv  G.  Travhrs. 

105.  Mrs.  Bliqh.    By  R.  Broughton. 

106.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold.    By 

J.  Payn. 

107.  Hanging  Moss.    By  P.  Lindatt. 

108.  A    Comedy  of  Elopement.    By  C. 

Reid. 

109.  In  the  Suntime  of  her  Youth.    By 

B.  Whitby. 

110.  Stories  in  Black  and  White.   By  T. 

llARDT  and  Others. 
IIOJ.  An  Englishman  in  Paris. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.    By  J.  Va- 

LEKA. 

112.  Dr.  PauWs  Theory.    By  Mrs.  A.  M. 

DiEHL. 


113.  Children  of  Destiny.     By  M.  E. 

Seawell". 

114.  A  Little  Minx.    By  A.  Cambridge. 

115.  CapVn  Davy's  Honeymoon.    ByH. 

Caine. 

116.  The   Voice  of  a  Flower.     By  E. 

Geraed. 

117.  Singularly  Deluded.  By  S.  Grand. 

118.  Suspected.    By  L.  STBATENirs. 

119.  Lucia,  Hugh,  and  Another.     By 

Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

120.  The  Tutor's  Secret.    By  V.  Cher- 

EULIEZ. 

121.  Irom  the  Five  Rivers.   By  Mrs.  F. 

A.  Steel. 

122.  An  Innocent  Impostor,  and  Other 

Stories.    By  M.  Gray. 

123.  IdecUa.    By  S.  Geand. 

124.  A  Comedy  of  Masks.    By  E.  Dq-w- 

80N  and  A.  Moobe. 

125.  Relics.    By  P.  MacNab. 

126.  Dodo:  A  DetaU  of  the  Day.    By 

E.  F.  Benson. 

127.  A  Woman  of  Forty.  By  E.  Stuart. 

128.  Diana  Tempest.   By  M.  Cholmon- 

deley. 

129.  The  Recipt  for  Diamonds.    By  C. 

J.  C.  Hyne. 

130.  Christina  Chard.    By  Mrs.  Camp- 

bell-Pbaed. 

131.  A    Gray  Eye  or  So.     By   F.  F. 

MOOEE. 

132.  Earlscourt.    By  A.  Allabdyce. 

133.  A   Marriage    Ceremony.     By   A. 

Cambbidge. 

134.  J.   Wa7'd  in   Chancery.     By  Mrs. 

Alexandeb. 

135.  Lot  13.    By  D.  Gebabd. 

136.  Our    Manifold    Nature.      By    S. 

Gband. 

137.  A  Costly  Freak.    By  M.  Gbat. 

138.  A  Beginner.    By  R.  Broughton. 

139.  A  Yellmo  Aster.    By  Mrs.  M.  Cap- 

FYN  ("Iota"). 

140.  The  Rubicon.    By  E.  F.  Benson. 

141.  The  Trespasser.    By  G.  Parker. 

142.  The  Rich  Miss  Riddell.     By  D. 

Gerard. 

143.  Mary  Fenwick's  Daughter.    By  B. 

Whitby. 

144.  Red  Diamonds.  By  J.  McCarthy. 

145.  A  Daughter  of  Music.    By  G.  Col- 

3I0RE. 

146.  Outlaw  and  Lawmaker.    By  Mrs. 

Campbell-Praed. 

147.  Dr.  Janet  of  Harley  Street.    By  A. 

Kenealy. 

148.  Georne  MandeviUe's  Husband.    By 

C.  E.  Raimond.  ^^^ 

149.  Vashti  and  Esther.  ^^H 
1.50.  Timar's    Two    Worlds.     'Bftm 

JOKAI. 

151.  A  Victim  of  Good  Licck.    By  W.  E. 
NoEBia. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  hlBRAKY.— (Continued,) 


158. 

153. 

IJJ. 

155. 

156. 

157. 

158. 

159. 

160. 
161. 

162. 

163. 
164. 

165. 
166. 

167. 
168. 

169. 

170. 

171. 

172. 

173. 

174. 

175. 
176. 

177. 

178. 

179. 

180. 

181. 

182. 

18a 

184. 

185. 

186. 


By  G. 


Faw- 


TTie   Trail  of  the  Sxoord. 

fATlKER 

A  ARld  Barbarian.    By  E. 

CETT. 

Tfi^    God    in    the   Gar.     By    A. 

IIOPB. 

Children  of  Clreumstanee.  By  Mrs. 

M.  Cafptn. 
A  t  the  Gate  of  Samaria.    By  W.  J. 

Locke. 
T/ie  Justification  of  Andrew  Le- 

brun.    By  F.  Bakbett. 
Duet  and  Laurele.    By  M.  L.  Pkn- 

UERED. 

The  Good  Ship  Mohock.    By  W.  C. 

RPSSELL. 

Noeini.    By  8.  Bariko-Gould. 
The  Honour  qf  SaveUi.     By  S.  L. 

YKAT8. 

Kitty's  Engagement.    By  F.  Wab- 

DEN. 

The  Mermaid.    By  L.  Doug  all. 
An  Arranged  Marriage.     By  D. 

Gerard. 
Eve's  JiaTiHom.    By  G.  GisaiNo. 
7'he  Marriage  of  Esther.    By  G. 

BOOTHBT. 

Mdelig.    By  A.  Cambbidob. 
Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges.  By 

F.  F.  MONTRfisOB. 

TheVengeance  of  James  Vansittart. 
By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Nebdell. 

A  Study  in  Prejudices.  By  G. 
Paston. 

The  Mistress  of  Quest.  By  A.  Ser- 
geant. 

In  the  Year  cf  Jubiiee.  By  G.  Gis- 

BVSQ. 

In    Old  KeiD    England.     By  H. 

BUTTERWORTH. 

Mrs.  Miixfjrave — and  Her  Husband. 

By  R.  ^ARSR. 
Kot  Counting  the  Cost.   By  Tasma. 
Out  of  Due  Season.    By  A.  Sbb- 

OEANT. 

Scylla    or     Charybdis?     By     R. 

BROrOHTON. 

In  Defiance  of  the  King.    By  C.  C. 

HOTCHKISS. 

A     Bid   for    Fortune.     By    G. 

BoOTHBT. 

The  King  of  Andaman.    By  J.  M. 

Cobban. 
Mrs.  Tregashiss.    By  Mrs.  Camp- 

bell-Praed. 
The  Desire  of  the  Moth.    By  C. 

Vane. 
A  Self- Denying  Ordinance.   By  M. 

Hamilton. 
Successors  to  the  Title.    By  Mrs.  L. 

B.  Walford. 
The  Lost  Stradivarius.    By  J.  M. 

Falkner. 
The  Wrong  Man.    By  D.  Gbbabd. 


187.  In  the  Day  of  Adversity.    By  J. 

Bloundelle-Burton. 
\m.  Mistress  Dorothy  Marvin.   ByJ.C. 

Snaith. 

189.  A  Flash  qf  Summer.    By  Mrs.  W. 

K.  Clifford. 

190.  The  Dancer  in  Yellow.    By  W.  B. 

191.  The  Chronicles  of  Martin  Hewitt. 

By  A.  Morrison. 

192.  A    Winning    Hazard.      By   Mrs. 

Alexander. 

193.  The  Picture  of  Las  Cruces.    By  C. 

Reid. 

194.  The  Madonna  qf  a  Day.    By  L. 

DOUOALL. 

195.  The  Kiddle  King.    By  J.  McCab- 

THY. 

136.  A  HunMe  Enterprise.    By  A.  Cak- 

BBLDGE. 

197.  Dr.  Nikola.    By  G.  Boothbt. 

198.  An  Outcast  of  the  Islands.    By  J. 

Conrad. 

199.  The  King's  Revenge.    By  C.  Brat. 

200.  Denounced.     By  J.  Blocndellb- 

BURTON. 

201.  A  Court  Intrigue.    By  B.  Thomp- 

son. 

202.  The  Idol-Maker.    By  A.  Sergeant. 

203.  The  Intriguers.    By  J.  D.  Barry. 
2W.  Master  Ardick,  Buccaneer.    By  F. 

H.  COSTELLO. 

205.  With  Fortune  Made.   By  V.  Cher- 

BULIEZ. 

206.  Fel/ow  Travellers.  By  G.  Traybbs. 

207.  McLeod  of  the  Camerone.    By  M. 

Hamilton. 

208.  TTie  Career  of  Candida.    By   G. 

Paston. 
809.  Arrested.    By  E.  Stpabt. 

210.  Tatterley.    By  T.  Gallon. 

211.  A  Fire^heck  Gfoddess.    By  Mrs.  J. 

M.  Fleming  (A.  M.  Kipling). 

212.  Perfection  Oit>/.    By  Mrs.  Orpen. 

213.  A    Spotless    Reputation.      By   D. 

Gerard. 

214.  A  Galahad  of  the  Creeks.    By  8.  L. 

215.  The  Beautiful  White  DevU.    By  G. 

Boothby. 

216.  The  Sun  qf  Saratoga.    By  J.  A. 

217.  FierceheaH,  the  Soldier.    By  J.  C. 

Snaitu. 
2ia  Marietta's   Marriage.    By  W.    E. 

NORRIS. 

219.  Dear  Faustina.  By  R.  Broughton. 

220.  NiUma.  By  Mrs.  Campbell  Praed. 

221.  The  Folly  of  Pen  Harrington.    By 

J.  Sturgw. 

222.  A  Colonioi  Free-Lance.    By  C.  C. 

Hotchkiss. 

223.  His  Majesty's  (Greatest  StUiJect.    By 

S.  S.  Tbobbubn. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  l,TERARY.-(Continued.) 


224. 

225. 

226. 

227. 

228. 

229. 
230. 

231. 


233. 
234. 


235. 


237. 


Mifanwy :  A  Welsh  Singer.    By  A. 

Rainb. 
A  Soldier  of  Manhattan.    By  J.  A. 

Fortune's    Footballs.     By    G.  B. 

BCRGIN. 

The  Clash  of  Arms.  By  J.  Bloun- 
DELI.E- Burton. 

God's  Foundling.  By  A.  J.  Daw- 
son. 

.^f^ss  Providence.    By  D.  Gekabd. 

The  Freedom  of  Henry  Meredyth. 
By  M.  Hamilton. 

Sweethearts  and  Friends.  By  M. 
Gray. 

Sunset.    By  B.  Whitby. 

A  Fiery  Ordeal.    By  Tasma. 

A  Prince  of  Mischance.  ByT.  Gal- 
lon. 

A    Passionate    Pilgrim.      By    P. 

WOITE 

This  Little  World.    By  D.  C.  Mub- 

BAY. 

A  Forgotten  Sin.    By  D.  Gerard. 


238. 


240. 

241. 
242. 
243. 

244. 
245. 

246. 
247. 
248. 
349. 

250. 
251. 

252. 

253. 


Th£  Incidental    Bishop.     By  G. 

Allen. 

The  Lake  of  Wine.    By  B.  Capes. 
A  Trooper  of  the  E7npress.    By  C. 

Ross. 

Torn  Sails.    By  A.  Raine. 
Materfamilias.  By  A.  Cambridge. 
John  of  Strathbourne.    By  R.  D. 

Chetwode. 

The  Millionaires.  By  F.  F.  Moore. 
The  Looms  of  Time.    By  Mrs.  H. 

Fraser. 

The  Queen's  Oiip.  By  G.  A.  Henty. 
Dicky  Monteith.    By  T.  Gallon. 
The  Lust  of  Hate.  ByG.  Boothby. 
The  Gospel  Writ  in  Steel.   By  Ab- 

THUR  Paterson. 
The  Widower.    By  W.  E.  Norris. 
Tfie   Scourge  of    God.       By    J. 

Blotjndelle  Burton. 
Coruxming  Isabel   Carnaby.     By 

Ellen  Thorneycroft  Fowler. 
The  Impediment.    By  Dorothea 

Gerard. 


"In  this  lar^re  collection  the  purchaser  can  hardly  make  a  mistake,  as  in 
the  series  will  be  found  leading  works  of  fiction,  written  by  leading 
authors." — New  Torh  Times. 

"  In  their  '  Town  and  Country  Library,'  as  it  is  known  familiarly,  the 
Messrs.  Appleton  have  been  remarkably  successful,  both  in  preserving  a 
good  standard  and  in  the  matter  of  popularity.  Presumably  this  is  one  of 
the  very  few  ciForts  of  the  kind  which  nave  been  successful  lor  more  than  a 
few  months.  And  we  think  the  secret  of  continued  success  lies  in  the  dis- 
crimination used  in  selecting  tales  that  are  clean,  pure,  and  withal  of  interest 
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editors  have  been  using  American  stories  more  and  more  frequently." — 
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"The  percentage  of  excellence  maintained  throughout  has  been  ex- 
traordinary. It  is  probably  within  bounds  to  say  that  no  other  list  of  legiti- 
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popularity.  From  time  to  time  in  this  manner  new  and  powerful  pens  are 
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magazines  and  the  novels  of  a  few  privileged  writers  who  make  special 
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the  century." — San  Francisco  Call. 

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// 


After  Maarten  Maartens's  long  silence  this  new  example  of  his  fine  literary 
art  will  be  received  with  peculiar  interest.  He  offers  in  this  book  a  singularly  delicate 
and  sympathetic  study  of  character. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  took  us  all  by  storm  some  time  ago  with  his  fine  story  chris- 
tened 'God's  Fool.'  He  established  himself  at  once  in  oar  affections  as  a  unique  crea- 
ture who  had  something  to  say  and  knew  how  to  say  it  in  the  most  fascinating  way. 
He  is  a  serious  story  writer,  who  sprang  into  prominence  when  he  first  put  his  pen  to 
paper,  and  who  has  ever  since  kept  his  work  up  to  the  standard  of  excellence  which  he 
raised  in  the  beginning." — ^eiv  York  Herald. 

Y^HE   GREATER   GLORY.     A  Story  of  High  Life. 

"Until  the  Appletons  discovered  the  merits  of  Maarten  Maartens,  the  fore- 
most of  Dutch  novelists,  it  is  doubtful  if  many  American  readers  knew  that  tliere  were 
Dutch  novelists.  His  '  God's  Fool '  and  '  Joost  Avelingh '  made  for  him  an  American 
reputation.  To  our  mind  this  work  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  of  epigram,  an 
artist  in  description,  a  prophet  in  insight." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his  theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most 
impressive  st^ries  of  the  period.  ...  It  belongs  to  the  small  class  of  novels  which  one 
can  not  afford  to  neglect.  ' — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  novelist  of  the 
day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative  power." — Boston  Beacon. 

r^OD'S  FOOL. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature. 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of '  God's  Fool.'  " — Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point," — New  York  Observer. 


J 


OOST  AVELLNGH. 


'Aside  from  the  masterly  handling  of  the  principal  characters  and  general  in- 
terest in  the  story,  the  series  of  pictures  of  Dutch  life  give  the  book  a  charm  peculiarly 
its  own." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Can  be  heartily  recommended,  both  from  a  moral  and  artistic  standpoint." — A'ew 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  So  unmistakably  good  as  to  induce  the  hope  that  an  acquaintance  with  the  Dutch 
literature  of  fiction  may  soon  become  more  general  among  us." — London  Morning 
Post. 

"A  novel  of  a  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  realistic  and  powerfully  ideal- 
istic."— London  Literary  World. 


D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


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E 


SOME  CHOICE   FICTION. 

VEL  YN  INNES.     A  Story.     By  George  Moore, 

author  of  "  Esther  Waters,"  etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  marvclously  artistic  analysts  of  the  inner  life  of  this  remarkable  woman  exer- 
cises a  peculiar  fasciiiacion  for  cultivated  people.  .  .  .  There  are  splendid  interpreta- 
tions of  Wagner's  best  works,  of  the  differences  between  ancient  and  modem  music,  of 
tiic  weakncsics  of  agnosticism,  and  of  the  impossibility  ot  fii.ding  happiness  and  free- 
dom from  misery  in  a  life  of  sin.  '1  he  manner  of  the  doing  is  wunderfiilly  fine.  M  r. 
Moore's  artistic  treatment  provokes  one's  admiration  again  and  again.  .  .  .  It  .seems 
as  if  one  could  poas  over  no  single  sentence  without  losing  something.  .  .  .  The  appeal 
of  the  book  is  to  the  class  of  people  best  worth  writing  for,  cultivated,  intellectual  people, 
who  can  appreciate  somethuig  better  than  the  commonpl.tce  stories  which  invari;ibly 
come  out  right.  Its  literary  quality  is  high ;  there  are  very  fine  things  about  it,  and  one 
feeli  that  '  Evelyn  Innes'  is  the  work  of  a  master." — Boston  Herald. 

"  In  '  Evelyn  Innes'  Mr.  Moore  joins  to  microscopic  subtlety  of  analysis  a  sense  of 
the  profound  and  permanent  things  in  human  life  which  is  rarely  to  be  encountered 
anywhere  save  in  works  of  great  breadth  .  .  .  The  method  is  with  Mr.  Moore  an  affair 
of  piercing  and  yet  tender  insight,  of  sympathy  as  well  as  science.  .  .  .  '  Evelyn  Innes' 
will  greatly  strengthen  the  author's  position.  It  speaks  of  a  powerful  imagination,  and, 
even  more,  of  a  sane  and  hopeful  view  of  human  life." — New  iork  Tribune. 

"  The  book  is  one  which,  while  in  no  respect  dramatic,  is  still  profoundly  interest- 
ing .  .  .  It  is  bound  to  be  read  with  ever  wider  attention  being  drawn  to  its  merits  as 
an  elaborate  mosaic  of  literary  art,  a  deep  study  of  human  nature,  a  noble  defense  of  the 
antiques  of  music,  and  altogether  a  prai.se worthy  contribution  to  the  best  works  of  the 
modem  English  realistic  school." — Philadelphia  Item. 

"  Assuredly  to  be  accounted  a  work  of  art  in  an  exacting  field." — London  Momtng 
Post. 

"  Space  is  left  us  for  almost  unadulterated  praise.  This  is^the  sanest,  the  most 
solid,  the  most  accomplished  book  which  Mr.  Moore  has  vrMm."  —London  Saturday 
Review. 

"  Virile  and  vivid.     It  has  dL«.tinction  and  grace."— i"a«  Francisco  Call. 

"  Sure  to  be  widely  tC3.A."— Brooklyn  Standard-Union. 

"  Fa<icinati  igly  written." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 


K 


RONSTADT.    A  Romance.    By  Max  Pemberton. 
Illustrated.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  '  Kronstadt'  is  beyond  measure  superior  in  all  respects  to  anything  Mr.  Peinber- 
ton  has  hitherto  done.  Singularly  original  in  its  conception,  the  story  is  most  cunninply 
and  cleverly  told.  It  grips  »he  attention  in  the  first  paragiaph,  and  whirls  one  im- 
sistibly  along  through  all  the  stirring  incidents  of  its  skillfully  devised  plot,  ^giving  01  e 
not  an  instant's  rest  until  the  splendid  dramatic  climax  gives  sudden  relief.  -Loudon 
Daily  Mail. 

"It  is  a  profoundly  interesting  and  exciting  story.  .  .  .  The  book  has  no  dull 
pages  in  it" — Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  An  exceedingly  well-written  story  of  adventure,  original  in  plot,  skill/id  in  char- 
acter drawing,  and  full  of  movement  and  color." — IVashingion  Times. 

"  There  is  a  breathless  interest  about  the  tale  which  will  not  permit  you  to  lay  it 
aside  until  the  whole  adventure  is  mastf  red." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
By  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 

Uniform  edition.     Each,  lamo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

^HE     STANDARD    BEARER.       An    Historical 
Romance. 

"  Mr.  Crockett's  book  is  distinctly  one  of  the  books  of  the  year.  Five  months  of 
1898  have  passed  without  bringing  to  the  reviewers'  desk  anything  tn  be  compared 
with  it  in  beauty  of  description,  convincing  characterization,  absorbing  plot  and  humoi- 
ous  appeal.  The  freshness  and  sweet  sincerity  of  the  tale  are  most  invigorating,  and 
that  the  book  will  be  very  much  read  there  is  no  possible  doubt." — Bcston  Bridget. 

"The  book  will  move  to  tears,  provoke  to  laughter,  stir  the  blood,  and  evoke  hero- 
isms of  history,  makmg  the  reading  of  it  a  delight  and  the  memory  of  it  a  stimulus  and 
a  joy." — New  York  Evangelist. 


T 


L 


ADS'  LOVE.     Illustrated. 


"  It  seems  to  us  that  there  is  in  this  latest  product  much  of  the  realism  of  per- 
sonal experience.  However  modified  and  disguised,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  think  that 
the  writer's  per'^onality  does  not  present  itself  in  Saunders  McQuhirr.  .  .  .  Rarely  has 
the  author  drawn  more  truly  from  life  than  in  the  cases  of  Nance  and  'the  Hempie'; 
never  more  typical  Scotsman  of  the  humble  sort  than  the  farmer  Peter  Chrystie.' — 
London  A  thenceujn. 


c 


'LEG    KELLY,   ARAB    OF    THE    CITY.     His 

Progress  and  Adventures.     Illustrated. 

"  A  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never  rivaled.  .  .  .  If  there  ever  was 
an  ideal  character  in  fiction  it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  books  does  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a  brighter  or  more  graphic 
picture  of  contemporary  Scotch  life  than  in  'Cleg  Kelly.'  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  great 
books." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 


B 


OG-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT     Third  edition. 


'  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 
burn.  .  .  .  Each  is  a  poem  that  has  an  Immortal  flavor.  They  are  fragments  of  the 
author's  early  dreams,  too  bright,  too  gorgeous,  too  full  of  the  blood  of  rubies  and  the 
life  of  diamonds  to  be  caught  and  held  palpitating  in  expression's  grasp." — Boston 
Courier. 

"  Hardly  a  sketch  among  them  all  that  will  not  afl^ord  pleasure  to  the  reader  for 
its  genial  humor,  artistic  local  coloring,  and  admirable  portrayal  of  character. " — Boston 
Home  Journal. 


T 


'HE  LILAC  SUNBONNET.     Eighth  edition. 


"  A  love  story,  pure  and  simple,  one  of  the  old  fashioned,  wholesome,  sim- 
shiny  kind,  with  a  pure-minded,  sound-hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a 
good  and  beautiful  woman;  and  if  any  other  love  story  half  so  sweet  has  been  written 
this  year  tt  has  escaped  our  notice." — New  York  Times. 

"  The  general  conception  of  the  story,  the  motive  of  which  is  the  growth  of  love 
between  the  young  chief  and  heroine,  is  delineated  with  a  sweetness  and  a  freshness, 
a  naturalness  and  a  certainty,  which  places  '  The  Lilac  Sunbonnet '  among  the  best 
stories  of  the  time." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 


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D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

By  a.  CONAN   DOYLE, 
Uniform  edition,     ismo.     Cloth,  $ijo  -iet  volume, 
f  TNCLE    BERN  AC.     A    Romance   of   the    Empire, 
^    Illustrated. 

"  '  Uncle  Bernac '  is  tor  a  truth  Dr.  Doyle's  Napoleon.  Viewed  as  a  picture  of  the 
little  man  in  the  gray  coat,  it  must  rank  before  anything  he  has  written.  The  fascii.a- 
ion  of  it  is  extraordinary." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  From  the  opening  pages  the  clear  and  energetic  telling  of  the  story  never  falters 
and  our  attention  never  nags." — London  Observer. 

JD  ODNE  Y  STONE.     Illustrated. 

"  A  remarkable  book,  worthy  of  the  jien  that  gave  us  '  The  White  Company/ 
•Micah  Clarke,'  and  other  notable  romances." — London  Daily  News. 

"  A  notable  and  very  brilliant  work  of  genius." — London  Speaker. 

"  '  Rodney  Stone '  is,  in  our  judgment,  distinctly  the  best  of  J)r.  Conan  Doyle'i 
novels.  .  .  .  There  are  few  descriptions  in  fiction  that  can  vie  with  that  race  upon  the 
Brighton  road." — London  Times. 

'^pHE  EXPLOfTS  OF  BRIGADIER   GERARD. 

■*■       A  Romance  of  the  Life  of  a  Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier.     Illus- 
trated. 

"The  brigadier  is  brave,  resolute,  amorous,  loyal,  chivalrous;  never  was  a  foe  mnr»~ 
ardent  in  battle,  more  clement  in  victory,  or  more  ready  at  need.  .  .  .  Gallantry,  humot. 


ni<utial  gayety,  moving  incident,  make  up  a  really  delightful  book." — London  Times. 

"  May  be  set  down  without  reservation  as  th 
Dr.  Doyle  has  ever  published." — Boston  Beacon, 


"JA^ay  be  set  down  without  reservation  as  the  most  thoroughly  enjoyable  book  that 
le  ' 


T 


HE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS.     Being  a 

Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  Stark  Munro,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough, 
of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1881-1884.  Illus- 
trated. 

"  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
I  pray  Dr.  Doyle  to  give  us  more  of  him." — Richard  le  Gallienne,  in  the  London  Star. 

" '  The  Stark  Munro  Letters '  is  a  bit  of  real  literature.  ...  Its  reading  will  be  an 
epoch-making  event  in  many  a  life." — Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

ID  O  UNO    THE   RED    LAMP.      Being  Facts  and 

*  *-     Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

"Too  much  can  not  be  said  in  praise  of  these  strong  productions,  that  to  read, 
keep  one's  heart  leaping  to  the  throat,  and  the  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anticipation  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  No  series  of  short  stories  in  modem  literature  can  approach  them." — Hart- 
ford Times. 

"If  Dr.  A.  'Conan  Doyle  had  not  already  placed  himself  in  the  front  rank  of  Irving 
EngUsh  writers  by  '  The  Refugees,'  and  other  of  his  larger  stories,  he  would  surely  dr 
ya  by  these  fifteen  short  tales." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

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D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATrONS. 


IV. 


HAMLIN    GARLAND'S    BOOKS. 
Uniform  edition.  Each,  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

'AYSIBE  COURTSHIPS. 


•  A  faithful  and  an  entertaining  portrayal  of  village  and  rural  life  in  the  West 
,  .  .  No  one  can  read  this  collection  of  short  stories  without  feeling  that  he  is  mastat 
of  the  subject." — Chicago  Jonrnal. 

"  One  of  the  most  delightful  books  of  short  stories  which  have  come  to  our  notice  in 
a  long  time." — Boston  Times. 

"  The  historian  of  the  plains  has  done  nothing  better  than  this  group  of  Western 
stories.  Wayside  courtships  they  are,  but  full  of  tender  feeling  and  breathing  a  fine, 
strong  sentiment" — Louisville  Times. 


J 


'ASON  ED  WARDS.     An  Average  Man. 


'  The  average  man  in  the  industrial  ranks  is  presented  in  this  story  in  as  lifelike 
a  manner  as  Mr.  ftet  Harte  presented  the  men  in  the  California  minmg  camps  thirty 
years  ago.  ...  A  story  which  will  be  read  with  absorbing  interest  by  hundreds  of 
workingmen." — Boston  Herald. 


A 


MEMBER   OF    THE    THIRD  HOUSE. 

Story  of  Political  Warfare. 


"  The  work  is,  in  brief,  a  keen  and  searching  study  of  lobbies  and  lobbyists.  At 
least,  it  is  the  lobbies  that  furnish  its  motive.  For  the  rest,  the  story  is  narrated  with 
much  power,  and  the  characters  of  Brennan  the  smart  wire-puller,  the  millionaire  Davis, 
the  reformer  Tiittle,  and  Evelyn  Ward  are  skillfully  individualized.  .  .  .  Mr.  Garland's 
people  have  this  peculiar  characteristic,  that  they  have  not  had  a  literary  world  made 
for  them  to  live  in.  They  seem  to  move  and  act  in  the  cold  gray  light  of  reality,  and 
in  that  trying  light  they  are  evidently  humau." — Chicago  Record. 


A 


SPOIL  OF  OFFICE.     A    Story   of  the   Modern 

West. 

"  It  awakens  in  the  mind  a  tremendous  admiration  for  an  artist  who  could  so  find 
his  way  through  the  mist^  of  familiarity  to  an  artistic  haven.  ...  In  reading  '  A  Spoil 
of  Office '  one  feels  a  continuation  of  interest  extending  from  the  fictional  into  the  actual, 
with  no  break  or  divergence.  And  it  seems  to  be  only  a  question  of  waiting  a  day  or 
two  ere  one  will  run  up  against  the  characters  in  real  life.'" 


A 


ALSO, 

LITTLE  NORSK ;  or,  OP  Pafs  Flaxen.     i6mo. 
Boards,  50  cents. 

"  True  feeling,  the  modesty  of  Nature,  rnd  the  sure  touch  of  art  are  the  marks  of 
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Chicago  Tribune. 

"  A  delightful  story,  full  of  humor  of  the  finest  kind,  genuine  pathos,  and  enthralling 
in  its  vivid  human  interest." — London  Acadejny. 


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A 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
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T   THE  CROSS-ROADS.    $1.50. 

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George  Eliot  and  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward.  .  .  .  There  is  as  much  strength  in  this  book 
as  in  a  dozen  ordinary  successful  novels." — London  Literary  World. 

"  1  commend  it  to  all  my  readers  who  like  a  strong,  cheerful,  beautiful  story.  It 
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PALSE  COIN  OR  TRUE?    $1.25. 

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is  original,  her  treatment  artistic,  and  the  book  is  remarkable  for  its  unflagging  inter- 
est'"— FhiUidelphia  Record. 

"  The  tale  never  flags  in  interest,  and  once  taken  up  will  not  be  laid  down  until  the 
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"  A  sweet,  tender,  pure,  and  lovely  story." — Buffalo  Commercial. 

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without  reservation.  It  is  fresh,  pure,  sweet,  and  patheti-,  with  a  pathos  which  is  per- 
fectly wholesome." — St.  Paul  Globe. 

"  The  story  is  an  intenseljr  human  one,  and  it  is  delightfuHy  told.  .  .  .  The  author 
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I 


NTO  THE  HIGHWA  YS  AND  HEDGES.    $1.50. 


'  A  touch  of  idealism,  of  nobility  of  thought  ar.d  purpose,  mingled  with  an  air  of 
reality  and  well-chosen  expression,  are  the  most  notable  features  of  a  book  that  has  not 
riie  ordinary  defects  of  such  equalities.  With  all  its  elevation  of  utterance  and  spirit- 
u.ility  of  outlook  and  insight  it  is  wonderfully  free  from  overstrained  or  exaggerated 
matter,  and  it  has  ctimpses  of  humor.  Most  of  the  characters  are  vivid,  yet  there  are 
restraint  and  sobriety  in  their  treatment,  and  almost  all  are  carefully  and  consistently 
evolved" — London  .-Mhenaum. 

" '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges '  is  a  book  not  of  promise  only,  hut  of  high 
achievement.  It  is  original,  powerful,  artistic,  humorous.  It  places  the  author  at  a 
bound  in  the  rank  of  those  artists  to  whom  we  look  for  the  skillful  presentation  of  strong 
personal  iuipressions  of  life  and  character." —London  Daily  News. 

"The  pure  idealism  of '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges '  does  much  to  redeem 
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and  told  with  great  refinement"— /"AiVadSfZ/AvVj  Public  Ledger. 


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VOYAGE   OF  CONSOLATION.     Illustrated. 


i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


Mrs.  Cotes  returns  to  the  field  which  she  developed  with  such  success  in 
•'A  Social  Departure  "  and  "An  American  Girl  in  London." 


H 


IS  HONOUR,    AND   A   LADY.     Illustrated. 
i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


T 


HE  STORY  OF  SONNY  SAHIB.     Illustrated. 

l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 


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A 


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A 


SOCIAL  DEPARTURE:  How  Orthodocia  and  I 

Went  Round  the  World  by  Ourselves.      With  iii  Illustration.'; 

by  F.  H.  Townsend.     i2mo.     Paper,  75  cents;  cloth,  $1.75. 

"A  brighter,  merrier,  more  entirely  charming  book  would  be,  indeed,  difficult  to 
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N  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN  LONDON.     With  80 

Illustrations  by  F.    H.   Townsend.     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents; 

cloth,  1 1. 50. 

"  So  sprightly  a  book  as  this,  on  life  in  London,  as  observed  by  an  American,  has 
never  before  been  written." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

n^HE  SIMPLE  ADVENTURES  OF  A   MEM- 

■^      SAHIB.     With  37  Illustrations  by  F.  H.  Townsend.     i2mo. 

Cloth,  $1.50, 

"  It  is  like  traveling  without  leaving  one's  armchair  to  read  it.  Miss  Duncan  has 
the  descriptive  and  narrative  gift  in  large  measure,  and  she  brings  vividly  before  us 
the  street  scenes,  the  interiors,  the  bewilderingly  queer  natives,  the  gayeties  of  tlic 
English  colony." — Philadelphia  Telrgraph. 


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BEATRICE   WHITBY'S   NOVELS. 
Each,  i2mo,  cloth,  $i.oo ;  paper,  50  cents. 
(TUNSET. 

" '  Sunset '  win  fully  meet  the  expectadoos  of  Miss  Whitby's  many  admirers, 
while  for  those  (if  such  there  be)  who  may  not  know  her  former  books  it  will  form  a 
very  appetizing  introduction  to  these  justly  popular  stories."— Loru^oM  Globe. 


T 


'HE  AWAKENING  OF  MARY  FEN  WICK. 

'  Miss  Whitby  is  far  above  the  average  novelist  .  .  .  This  story  is  original 
without  seeming  ingenious,  and  powerful  without  being  overdrawn." — A'ew  York 
Commercial  Advertiser. 


P 


ART  OF   THE  PROPERTY. 


"The  book  is  a  thoroughly  good  one.  The  theme  is  the  rebellion  of  a  spirited 
girl  against  a  match  which  has  been  arranged  for  her  without  her  knowledge  or  con- 
sent. ...  It  is  refreshing  to  read  a  novel  in  which  there  is  not  a  trace  of  slipshod 
work." — London  Spectator. 


A 


MATTER   OF  SKILL. 


"  A  very  charming  love  story,  whose  heroine  is  drawn  with  original  skill  and 
beauty,  and  whom  everybody  will  love  for  her  splendid  if  very  independent  character." 
— Boston  Home  Journal. 


o 


NE  REASON   WHY. 


'  A  remarkably  well-written  story.  .  .  .  The  author  makes  her  people  speak 
the  language  of  everyday  life,  and  a  vigorous  and  attractive  realism  pervades  the 
book." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

TN   THE   SUN  TIME  OF  HER    YOUTH. 

"  The  story  has  a  refreshing  air  of  novelty,  and  the  people  that  figure  in  it  are 
depicted  with  a  vivacity  and  subtlety  that  are  very  attractive." — Boston  Beacon. 


M 


ARY  FEN  WICK'S  DAUGHTER. 


"  A  novel  which  will  rank   high  among  those  of  the  present  season." — 
Boston  Advertiser. 


o 


N  THE  LAKE  OF  LUCERNE,  and  other  Stories. 
i6mo.     Boards,  with  specially  designed  cover,  50  cents. 

"  Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literary  Digest. 

"  Very  dainty,  not  only  in  mechanical  workmanship  but  in  matter  and  manner."— 
Boston  Advertiser. 

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T 


FELIX   GRAS'S    ROMANCES. 

"HE  TERROR.  A  Romance  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution. By  Fei.ix  Gras,  author  of  "  The  Reds  of  the  Midi." 
Uniform  with  "  The  Reds  of  the  Midi."  Translated  by  Mrs. 
Catharine  A.  Janvier.     i6mo.     Cloth,  §1.50. 

"If  F^lix  Gras  had  never  done  any  other  work  than  this  novel,  it  would  at  once 
give  him  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  the  writers  of  to  day.  .  .  .  '  The  Terror '  is  a  story 
that  deserves  to  be  widely  read,  for,  while  it  is  of  thrilling  interest,  holding  the  reader  s 
attention  closely,  there  is  about  it  a  literary  quality  that  makes  it  worthy  of  something 
more  than  a  careless  perusal." — Brooklyn  Eagle. 

"  Romantic  conditions  co'ild  hardly  be  better  presented  than  in  a  book  of  this  kind, 
and  above  all,  in  a  book  by  Felix  Gras.  .  .  .  The  romance  is  replete  with  interest." — 
AVif  York  Times. 

"  There  is  genius  in  the  book.  The  narrative  throbs  with  a  palpitation  of  virile 
force  and  nervous  vigor.  Read  it  as  a  mere  story,  and  it  is  absorbing  beyond  descrip- 
tion. Consider  it  as  a  historical  picture,  .  .  .  and  its  extraordinary  power  and  sig- 
nificance are  apparent." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  The  book  may  be  recommended  to  those  who  like  strong,  artistic,  and  exciting 
romances." — Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  Many  as  have  been  the  novels  which  have  the  Revolution  as  their  scene,  not  one 
surpasses,  if  equals,  in  thrilling  interest." — Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 


T 


HE  REDS  OF  THE  MIDI.     An  Episode  of  the 

French    Revolution.     By  Felix    Gras.     Translated  from  the 

Provenfal  by  Mrs.  Catharine  A.  Janvier.    With  an  Introduction 

by   Thomas   A.   Janvier.     With    Frontispiece.     i6mo.     Cloth, 

$1.50. 

"  I  have  read  with  great  and  sustained  interest  '  The  Reds  of  the  South,'  which  you 
were  go^d  enough  to  present  to  me.  Though  a  work  of  fiction,  it  aims  at  painting  the 
historical  features,  and  such  works  if  faithfully  executed  throw  more  light  tlian  many 
so  called  histories  on  the  true  roots  and  causes  of  the  Revolution,  which  are  so  widely 
and  so  gravely  misunderstood  As  a  novel  it  seems  to  me  to  be  written  with  great 
&)s\\\." —IVilliam  E.  Gladstone. 

"  Patriotism,  a  profound  and  sympathetic  insight  into  the  history  of  a  great  epoch, 
and  a  poet's  delicate  sensitiveness  to  the  beauties  of  form  and  expression  have  com- 
bined to  make  M  F6Ux  Gras's  '  The  Reds  of  the  Midi '  a  work  of  real  Hterarj'  value. 
It  is  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  sensationalism  :  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  subdued, 
simple,  unassuming,  profoundly  sincere.  Such  artifice  as  the  author, has  found  it 
necessary  to  employ  has  been  carefully  concealed,  and  if  we  feel  its  presence,  it  is  only 
because  experience  has  taught  that  the  quality  is  indispensable  to  a  work  which  affects 
the  imagination  so  promptly  and  with  such  force  as  does  this  quiet  narrative  of  the 
French  Revolution." — New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is  doubtful  whether  in  the  English  language  we  have  had  a  m^re  powerful, 
impre  sive,  artistic  picture  of  the  French  Revolution,  from  the  revi  lutionist's  point  of 
vi^w,  than  that  presented  in  Felix  Gras's  'The  Reds  of  the  Midi.'  .  .  .  Adventures 
fo'low  one  another  rapidly  ;  splendid,  brilliant  pictures  are  frequent,  and  the  thiead  of 
a  lender,  beautiful  love  story  winds  in  and  out  of  its  pages." — New  York  Mail  and 
Express. 

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